


The Art of Disappearing

by Jenye



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff and Angst, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Multi, Slow Burn, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenye/pseuds/Jenye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first night they met they witnessed a grisly murder.  Now they’re being placed into the Witness Protection Program.  Starting life over in Ark, Minnesota was definitely not part of Clarke’s five-year plan.  And gaining a wife certainly wasn’t something Bellamy saw himself doing this year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introducing Mr. & Mrs. King

**Author's Note:**

> This little monster started off as a silly idea I had while sitting in the airport yesterday. Of course that means I spent way too much time hashing out an actually storyline and this first chapter became a thing. Please forgive me, I have no beta at the moment. But I am going to get one. Also, realize I have 0 knowledge about the Witness Protection Program...or do I? So many creative liberties have been taken. Enjoy!

He’s read the same sentence at least sixteen times as he listens to the conversation happening at the counter. At first he hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. In fact, the only reason he got interested in the conversation to begin with is because he heard the girl behind the counter mention something about a clinical rotation. And with his sister finishing high school soon he is more interested in hearing about the opportunities their east-coast town has to offer for education. 

Of course, convincing Octavia Blake that she needed to stay here in Walden, Massachusetts is a whole other battle. Anything short of a full-ride scholarship and a boy confessing his undying love — not happening anytime soon, Bellamy had all but scared any possible suitors away a long time ago — wasn’t going to keep his sister locked down here. He saw the posters on her wall and the college pamphlets atop her desk. She dreamed of the west coast.

And Bellamy’s stomach twists at the mere thought. 

“Are you sure you don’t want help closing up?” The boy leaning against the counter nearly whines. It is more than Bellamy can do to keep from laughing at his obvious desperation. “I don’t mind. Then maybe we can head back to my pla—“

“You sure she won’t be there?” The blonde bites back with a venom Bellamy wouldn’t have believed possible from the seemingly calm-natured barista if he hadn’t just witnessed it himself. 

Not that he really has anything to prove his snap judgment. He doesn’t actually know the girl. This was his first time in the coffeehouse that has been four blocks from his house almost his entire life. Well, it was just recently turned into a coffee shop — before that it had been some pottery place. And before that an international tie “emporium”. 

Coffee was definitely more this town’s speed. 

“Clarke, come on — I never meant — “

“Get out, Finn. I need to finish closing up.” She forces through gritted teeth as she continues to wipe down the espresso machines, but the shaggy-haired boy never moves. In fact, Bellamy is beginning to think maybe he has somehow super glued his ass to that stool in a lover’s protest. And this ‘Clarke’ must have gotten the same impression, because she turns around and finally faces him with finality. “Without you.” 

The dejection releases the hold of the emotional glue and within moments of her statement the boy is sulking through the quaint establishment and out the front doors: the ring of the bell above the door being his final farewell. Leaving only himself, the barista — Clarke, and an older gentleman sitting toward the front of the shop. 

Bellamy watches the door for a moment, almost half expecting the boy to swing back through to fight another day. He seems the final declaration of love type — even if it goes down in a blaze of glory. But he never comes back and then Bellamy remembers her mention something about closing up for the night. He started to gather his things when he hears a feminine giggle. 

He looks up to see the blonde smiling at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. She is beautiful and the way her blue eyes light up when she is amused makes Bellamy believe that the coffeehouse-romancing boy is truly messed up in the head to cheat — or so he would believe from their little argument — on the likes of her. 

“You don’t have to clean up just yet.” She says with a knowing smile, “I’ve still got plenty to do around here. I just wanted to do it without a lovesick shadow standing over me. You know?”

He does. Well, maybe not in the exact way she means it. But he’s ended his fair share of relationships before the other party was truly ready to part ways. And he can’t help but laugh at her candor. He nods, leaning back into his chair. 

His intentions are to reopen his book, but suddenly Civil War history doesn’t feel like a topic he’s interested in at the moment — a feeling very foreign to Bellamy Blake. 

Instead he stands, picking up his coffee mug and walking it the short distance to the counter. He placed the empty cup atop the copper-colored marble and watches as the girl sweeps behind the bar.

“Want help closing up then?” He offers and she glances up at him with a expression of surprise and disbelief. That’s when Bellamy realizes, with only slight embarrassment, just how much his words echo those from the earlier boy. He holds up his hands to signal his lack of defense. “I swear you don’t have to come back to my place after.”

She laughs again and jerks her head to signal for him to come around to the other side of the counter. Bellamy quickly rounds the corner as she tosses a rag his way, “Of course, your place is always open for discussion.”

She blanched before laughing at the teasing nature of his expression. Her laughter is infectious and Bellamy finds himself joining in before letting her direct him toward the nearest espresso machine. She instructs him quickly on how exactly the machine needed to be cleaned and the different pieces that need to be taken off and then placed back on. It is enough to make his head spin.

“I work on cars for a living — and I’m pretty sure this machine has more bells and whistles than my beat up pick-up truck.” Bellamy muses, watching as Clarke empties the used grinds. “I’m Bellamy by the way. Bellamy Blake.”

“Clarke Griffin.” She responds, thrusting her hand told him while using her free hand to turn on a nearby faucet. 

He took her hand for a brief second before getting down to work. It was apparent this girl was all business and Bellamy wasn’t about to seem like a slack just because this was his first time even coming close enough to anything that wasn’t a Mr. Coffee coffeepot from Wal-Mart. 

The two fell into a silent rhythm around the shop. Once Bellamy was finished with the espresso machine Clarke quickly realized his specialty wasn’t going to be the coffee wares and sent him to start turning the chairs up on the tables in the front of house; all except for the one with the gentleman at the front. The man didn’t even offer to move when Bellamy neared, which seemed almost odd or at least very inconsiderate, but Clarke just yelled across the shop that he could finish up his crossword if he wanted. 

Once that task was finished she asked if he would go to the back and grab the mop and bucket. Bellamy nodded and headed into the small back room. And that’s when he heard the bell over the door ring. He had assumed the older gentleman must have finally left. 

Bellamy makes his way out of the back and is just coming to the cash register when he looks up. Instead of seeing the empty table where the older gentleman had once been, another grey-haired man has now joined him at said table, but this one isn’t here to catch up with an old friend. He has a gun pointed straight at the other’s head.

Before he can react he feels a tug on his pant leg and looked down to see Clarke completely panicked at his feet. Without hesitation he ducks down next to her, hidden by the coffee shop’s counter. Her expression reads of complete terror and even though his emotions match, his protective instinct kicks in and he wraps an arm around her. He pulls her close to his side and she quickly wrapped herself around him. 

No words pass between the two of them, Clarke’s head tucks into Bellamy’s chest and he can feel her shaking against him. His ears were honed in, for the second time that night, on a conversation he isn’t a part of. And his mind is going a mile a minute; chastising himself for leaving his phone sitting atop the table he was once at. They need an escape route — or does this new intruder even know they’re there? 

Bellamy is in the middle of a silent, age-old flight or fight debate when he hears their harsh conversation come to a sudden end. One second the man sitting at the table is stuttering his pathetic plea for his life and then next the blast of a gunshot fills the air. 

They both jump and Bellamy’s eyes slammed shut. He feels Clarke’s hand grip the material of his t-shirt as she almost-silently sobs. His own stomach turns and his mind tried to register what has just happened. His ears are ringing and his mind seems to go into a haze. Were they next? Was this man simply picking them off one at a time?

He barely hears the bell above the door ring once again over his thoughts. And at first Bellamy is afraid to move. What if it is a ploy to get them to come out from behind the counter? The man wants them assume they were safe, but he is just waiting to see the whites of their eyes before finishing them off. 

But then nothing happened. No noise. No movement: just Clarke sitting beside him completely wrecked. 

He finally gets the nerve to move, but Clarke grips on to him tighter. He looks down at her and gives her a silent nod. It’s not a lot, but he hopes he conveys some kind of comfort. He’s not going anywhere. He just needs to see what they’re dealing with.

“Stay right here.” He whispers and finally she agrees, losing her grip around him. 

Bellamy slowly stands, realizing just how bad his knees are shaking. He steels himself, his jaw tight, as he turns around, half-expecting to be shot on the spot. But all he sees is the older man slouched over at the same table. 

Except now he has a fatal gunshot to the head. 

\--

“Leave Walden?” Clarke’s blue eyes nearly pop out of her head and she leans forward onto the conference table.

“Fuck me.” Bellamy mumbles, his hand going over his face as he leans back farther into his chair.

“Yes. We’ve arranged for you to join the Witness Protection Program. You will be given new identities and will be relocated to another part of the United States.” The man — Office Jaha, according to his nametag — in front of them doesn’t even flinch as he all but literally throws their lives out the window. 

For the first time since seeing that man get shot at the coffee house, Bellamy is beginning to think this whole thing was behind him. He had identified the man who had murdered that older gentleman in cold blood and testified to it. The man was now sitting behind bars for what Bellamy assumed would be the rest of his life. And just like that he assumed that this sudden and horrific chapter of his life was over.

But apparently it was just the beginning of a new one. A new fucking life. 

Then the realization his him like a shock to the system.

“What about my sister?” He asks. “I’m all she’s got — I can’t just leave her.”

“She’s going with you.” Jaha says. “She’s been informed — to the extent she needs to be — and she’ll be meeting us here briefly.”

“She’s coming here?” Clarke interrupts. “Why would she need to come here?” 

“Your flight leaves in four hours.” 

“Fa — four hours.” She gasped like the wind has just been knocked out of her. 

Bellamy’s eyes fall on her and actually take her in for the first time since this whirlwind has started. Her bright eyes are dull with dark circles under them. Her put-together appearance lacks its finishing touches and her once porcelain complexion looks as though she’s taken ill. 

Her fingers run through her nearly tangled curls as she rests her head in her hands. She is processing in her own way, but Bellamy isn’t sure she’ll be sane by the time she boards her plane. 

“I just don’t understand.” Clarke finally starts, thinking out loud. “You caught the guy. He was a scumbag, obviously. But he’s behind bars. We did our part. We should get some kind of reward not shipped off like some fucking care package.”

The circumstances aren’t ideal, but her honesty makes Bellamy smile as he looks down at the pale blue carpet below their shoes. 

“Most of the details are classified and for your safety I will not disclose too much, but Daute Wallace is a powerful man.” Jaha looks from Clarke to Bellamy. “The type of man that doesn’t lose his power just because he’s stuck behind bars. Connections have probably already been made to hunt you two down — that is why you leave in four hours.”

“What the fuck is a ‘powerful’ man doing in Walden?” Bellamy asked.

“Vacationing with a pit stop in homicide, apparently.” Clarke muses; glancing back at him with what he thinks might be a glimpse of humor. But as soon as it appears it is gone as she looks back at Jaha. “So what, we leave until things settle down? How long? A month?”

“Indefinitely.” 

The blow hits like a sucker punch to the gut. Bellamy and Clarke both sit in stunned silence as Jaha continues with the travel details. What they should pack and how they’d get their new identities once they arrived to their new location. Their new home. This whole situation is completely out of his control and that is not something Bellamy is used to. And he certainly doesn’t like it. 

“Are there any other questions?” Jaha asks, and Bellamy can sense his insincerity with the question. Both him and Clarke just shake their heads and the officer gives a crud nod, “Alright. Your cars are out front to take you to your respective homes. Pack up and safe travels.”

And just like that he disappears, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone with just themselves and their jumbled thoughts. 

Bellamy is the one to stand first, adjusting his leather jacket and heading toward the door. When he realized Clarke hadn’t moved he finally glancing back at her. She just sits there, staring out the windows in front of her. She seems completely lost in thought and almost peaceful. If Bellamy didn’t know any better he would have thought she was almost okay with everything. Then again, he isn’t so sure he isn’t. 

“Good thing I don’t have much I’m leaving behind.” He offers conversationally. He tries to keep his tone light and even smirks. It’s a stretch, but he’ll try anything.

But his mood changes when she finally looks at him and he sees a strange sadness was over her.

“Yeah. Me either.”

\--

The flight is tense and quiet, except for the conversation Octavia insists on making in hushed tones. At first she’s all about her future self. She wants to know her “history” and what her name will be. She hopes they’re landing somewhere warm — and he hates to break it to her that they wouldn’t have been instructed to pack coats if that were the case. But finally, after many “That’s enough, O” comments from Bellamy, she subsides into reading her magazine. 

Bellamy leans back in his aisle seat, going between trying to clear his mind and glancing toward the blonde who hasn’t stopped biting her nails since they boarded. She’s fidgety and it doesn’t take a genius to tell she’s nervous. Hell, they all are. But every question Octavia asks her is answered with a kind, conversational response. He appreciates her willingness and understanding to Octavia’s persistent questions. Something she does when she’s is nervous. 

When they finally land, they’re all a little worse for wear and Bellamy can’t help but feel like a caged animal by the time he’s standing up to reach for their carry-ons. 

“Welcome to Ark, Minnesota.” A voice over the intercom announces, “We hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Ark.” Octavia groans. “It just sounds like a place where modern civilization comes to retire.”

“Or die.” Clarke mumbles.

Bellamy and Octavia both laugh as he hands the blonde her bag. They make slow work of getting off the small plane and heading into the nearly nonexistent airport. 

He’s almost positive the only flights that land in this airport are for hunting parties only. It’s small enough that those boarding nearly run over the people getting off the same plane. And if that wasn’t enough, there is literally a taxidermist’s dream in the middle of the luggage carousel. 

“Is that a grizzly bear? In an airport?” Octavia asks, staring in amused awe at the life-size creature staring back at her with glassy eyes. 

“Well yeah,” Clarke says, coming to stand next to her. “I mean because the elk without the bear would just be insanity.”

Octavia smirks at her and then looks over at Bellamy, “At least we got stuck with a funny one.”

Bellamy is just about to say something when he hears a rather nasally sounding voice calling out his name. Well, his last name. 

He quickly turns from the two girls and sees a middle-aged woman making her way toward them. She has the pace of a woman on a mission and a welcoming smile that could probably brighten up the darkest day. Even with the red lipstick smudged across her front two teeth. Her brown eyes are magnetized by the glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose and her hair bottle-dyed brown hair looks like it hasn’t been styled since the eighties. 

She’s a sight. But at least she’s welcoming.

“Blake?” She questions, closer to them now. “Are you Blake?”

“Um,” Bellamy glances from her to the two girls on his left. And then he nods, “Yeah, but I thought you —“ 

“Wonderful!” She claps her hands together with excitement before turning her attention to Clarke and Octavia. “Then you two beautiful ladies must be Penelope and Julia! We’re so very excited to have you! Do you know how long we’ve been looking for a history teacher here in Ark?”

They all just stand still. Trying not to look completely confused and utterly lost. 

“Well, Mr. King.” She smiles sweetly, “Where are my manners? I’m Wanda; Mr. Kane, our principal, has sent me to show you around our little piece of heaven. And help get you, your wife, and sister settled into your new home.” 

“I’m sorry, my wh—“ Bellamy starts, but is quickly quieted by Octavia’s elbow jabbing sharply into his stomach. 

“I see you’ve got your luggage, so shall we?” Wanda grins as she turns on her heels and heads for the sliding doors, not bothering to wait for any of them to answer.

Octavia follows easily and Bellamy swears he hears her giggling, but Clarke and him are rooted in place. Neither of them says anything and they can’t be bothered to look at each other. 

As soon as they walk out those doors they are officially Blake and Penelope. 

And they are fucking married.


	2. How Do You Take Your Coffee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night they met they witnessed a grisly murder. Now they’re being placed into the Witness Protection Program. Starting life over in Ark, Minnesota was definitely not part of Clarke’s five-year plan. And gaining a wife certainly wasn’t something Bellamy saw himself doing this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all the support this story has gotten both on here and Tumblr. You guys are so fantastic! Again, forgive any errors — I tried to beta myself. But sadly, I am not perfect. I hope you enjoy...and again, remember: creative liberties. I know 0 about the Witness Protection Program. Enjoy!

Their first day in Ark, Minnesota goes at an accelerated rate. Wanda wastes no time in whizzing them through the nearly non-existent town to their cozy new estate nestled just off the barely-there town square. The “For Sale” sign is still sticking up in the middle of the front lawn with a plastered “SOLD” sticker over it. And there’s a U-Haul truck backed into what is apparently now their driveway. The three of them do their best to hide their confused expressions at the large vehicle and men hauling out what must be their furniture. 

They came with nothing.

Well, not nothing. But everything they actually owned was shoved in the trunk of Wanda’s Buick: a suitcase and a carry-on. That’s what they were told to pack. For Bellamy that had been an easy task, but by the looks of Octavia and Clarke’s suitcases — with the zippers all but literally screaming out for release — they had found the job a lot more difficult. 

And now they had furniture? 

Of course, no one is able to really focus on this new detail because Wanda throws the car in park, still talking a mile a minute, and starts directing their next moves. Bellamy has barely had time to process that they’re in an entirely different state as entirely different people. Clarke looks as though she’s misplaced her entire existence. And Octavia acts as though she’s walking through a museum. None of them are very good at having a poker face. 

No one warned them witnessing a murder by a wanted mob boss meant you better be a pretty damn good actor. 

Add that to the list of things Bellamy never thought he’d think with a sound mind. 

Clarke is the first one to step foot into their new home, Bellamy stuck outside speaking with the movers and Octavia has Wanda pointing out several little things about their surroundings. 

The home really is beautiful. And in different circumstances — and in another state — Clarke believes it could actually be pretty close to her dream home. It’s small, with vintage details. The outside is made of brick with decent curb appeal. But the inside all but takes her breath away. Crown molding lines the walls with rich hardwood at her feet. The family before them has updated some things; the light fixtures, the color of the walls, the fireplace in the living room, and several other modern amenities. But everything else seems near original to the home. 

The entryway to the house gives her an easy view of the living room and what she assumes is the dining room. Stepping down the hallway and past the staircase, she finds the kitchen with its white cabinets and granite countertops. The appliances are stainless steel and look brand new. Her fingers run over the charcoal colored granite of the island as she studies the tiled backsplash behind the sink.

She senses him before she hears him. Clarke tilts her head to look over her shoulder to see Bellamy standing behind her. His proximity is close, but not looming. She’s already begun to realize her comfort level is somehow directly affected by his closeness. The closer he is the more anchored she feels. 

“Not bad, huh?” He smirks, his hands going into the pocket of his jeans.

“Yeah.” She muses, glancing back at their new home. “Not bad.”

They stand there silently for a moment, only the shuffling of the movers coming through the doors filling the air. Clarke can feel Bellamy’s eyes on her as she starts to walk toward the adjoining doorway and back into their new living room. This was their home. Indefinitely. 

“So how do you feel about marriage?” Bellamy asks, breaking the ice the best way he knows how.

“It looks like it has its perks.” She laughs, opening up her hands to gesture at the home around them. 

And it’s not entirely a lie. More so an avoidance of just how heavy their situation is. She’s not ready for that loaded conversation yet. She will be. But not right now. Not with movers walking all around them. Not with Octavia exploring her new surroundings. And certainly not with Wanda acting as though they’re a theatrical production in need of directing. 

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, but she hears him give the huff of a small laugh and the shuffling of his shoes against that hardwood. He follows behind her, walking toward the bay window at the front of the living room. She turns to see him looking out the window at their new neighborhood. Some of their nosier neighbors have found excuses to come outside and linger, trying to get a look at their new inhabitants. But most of their neighborhood seems quiet on this fall day. 

Back in the kitchen, they hear the sliding glass door that leads to the back yard open. Octavia appears with a smile on her face, Wanda following right behind.  
“You should see the backyard!” Octavia exclaims. “It’s perfect! All it’s missing is a pool. We need to get a pool!”

Bellamy turns around and watches his sister from the window. She makes herself at home easily, jumping up onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her legs swing down as she leans back against granite. Clarke sees the way his lips twitch and she assumes he’s about to tell her to get down. But then he freezes, like he’s remembering this place is theirs. And then he smiles.

“I think we’ll unpack our things first before we talk about adding anything else to this place.”

He moves back toward the kitchen and Clarke slowly starts to follow, still taking in the details around her. She notices Wanda walking around the kitchen and dining room areas, taking in her own impromptu tour. She’s smiling and humming to herself and Clarke decides that maybe this place isn’t so bad if it can produce such a happy-go-lucky — if not a bit overbearing — person. 

Clarke moves to lean against the island again, standing next to where Octavia is sitting. Bellamy and her are talking about different things. Well, it’s mostly Octavia daydreaming about all the things they can do with this house and Bellamy quickly putting a lid on anything too over the top.

“Well, I must say,” Wanda calls from the dining room. “I’m not sure who you killed to get this place. But it was totally worth it.”

If photos were worth a thousand words, the picture taken of their faces in that moment would have told a rather telling tale. Clarke felt her own stomach drop to the floor, while Octavia and Bellamy’s olive complexion drains to nearly porcelain white. Her bright blue eyes glance toward them in complete horror. Did she know who they were? Was she supposed to? Was this her unorthodox way of breaking the ice on that topic?

But then they hear her jolly laughter echo off the walls as she walks toward them in the kitchen. Her cheeks redden with joy and her eyes twinkling with the amusement she just caused herself. And it’s Bellamy who’s able to put his pathetic attempt at a poker face back on first. His laughter is forced and deep in his chest. Octavia follows suit with a quiet giggle, but Clarke can only manage a smile as she tries to push her sudden nausea away. 

“You definitely have a lovely home here.” Wanda smiles at them and if she sees their discomfort she ignores it entirely. “And what a lovely little family to go along with it.”

Family.

They were a family now. Clarke hadn’t really ever had much of a family. Her last chance at a normal family died along with her father almost eight years ago. Her mother, always more business than caring, all but closed in on herself after the accident. She spent most of her nights at the hospital and away from her only daughter. And as much as she hated to admit it, Clarke prefers it that way. She still held a lot of anger toward her mother and everything that had transpired that night.

And she knows very little about the two newest members of her “family”, but she can tell that word holds a lot more importance to then than it ever has for her. In the small amount of time they’ve already spent together, Clarke can see the genuine care between the two. When they’re in sync it’s something like a work of art, but when they’re at odds it’s like oil and water. It’s fascinating. 

But it makes her ache. Ache for something she’s never had; an unconditional shelter. 

“I am so glad I got to meet you and your family, Mr. King.” Wanda walks toward Bellamy and opens her arms in what can only be assumed as something that’s going to be a bear-like hug. “I’ll let you and your lot get settled. Mr. Kane wants you to be at the school tomorrow by 7:30. I’ve left directions on the counter there. He wants to meet with you and give you a quick tour before classes officially start up for the day.”

“Please, just call me Blake.” Bellamy returns the shorter woman’s hug with a genuine gesture of warmth. Every act seemed to surprise Clarke. Just when she thinks she has him figured out he’ll go and do something entirely out of the character she has imagined. “And thank you for your help today.”

“Nice meeting you, Wanda.” Octavia smiles, the amusement still dancing in her eyes as she jumps down from the island to hug her next. 

So they were all hugging the woman. That was a thing now. It made Clarke only slightly uncomfortable knowing her turn was coming up. 

“Penelope!” Wanda exclaims joyfully, pulling Clarke into a tight hug. “You’re going to love out little town. Mr. Kane wants you to know if you need anything at all, his door is always open to your family.”

Clarke just smiles, mumbling her thanks to the woman. Octavia follows Wanda to the door where the movers are still carrying in the last of the boxes and furniture. She’s not sure what to make of this Mr. Kane and why he’s so invested in them. Maybe it’s a Midwest hospitality thing, but she can’t shake the feeling of something more. 

“Well, what do you say, Penelope?” Bellamy walks up next to her with a playful grin dancing across his lips. “Shall we get to unpacking?”

Clarke isn’t as easy going as her new family; she’s cautious and concerned by nature. But there’s something about the way Bellamy looks at her that makes her feel charged with new energy. 

“Lead the way, Blake.” She smiles and is surprised it’s not forced, gesturing toward the front of the house.

\--

By the time she falls against the plush sofa that night her feet ache, her back throbs, and her muscles feel like jelly beneath her skin. But their house is starting to look more like a home. 

The movers helped move the larger pieces into their respective rooms, but it was up to them to decide exactly where they wanted everything. And that’s when the arguing ensued. Clarke wanted the couch across from the fireplace; Bellamy thought it would go better at an angle. Clarke wanted the dining room table to run the same length as the kitchen; Bellamy wanted it to go along the width of the kitchen. Even putting the dishes in the cabinets had led to an argument. 

They would no more than make up from the last placement argument and then be met with the next. Clarke had always thought she hated arguing, but when it came to going toe-to-toe with Bellamy she found herself almost excited about it. It was a strange sensation, but she enjoyed the way his eyes would go wide when he obviously disagreed with something. The tone his voice took when he was trying — and failing — to be reasonable. And how every single argument ended with him throwing his arms up in the air as some kind of symbolic white flag. 

Bellamy had an opinion about every little detail: until it came to the room that was supposed to be theirs. Bellamy had absolutely no opinion. In fact it was almost like he avoided it completely. He mumbled something about it being all hers and walked out of the room. 

And she wasn’t sure if she was offended or relieved at how easily that inevitable conversation had ended. She didn’t argue. Instead she started moving the smaller pieces; dresser, vanity, and lounge chair into places she found acceptable. And when she saw him roll his suitcase in along with hers she didn’t say anything. She just watched as he started to unpack his own clothes into the dresser they were going to be sharing. 

She knew they’d have to share this space, even if it was in a limited capacity. There were only two bedrooms to this place and she highly doubted he’d be moving in with Octavia. But she wasn’t sure that was a conversation she was ready for either. It was easy to go on autopilot and get the house ready, but all of that seemed to blur whenever she was reminded of just how fucked up their situation was. 

And that’s how they left it: completely up in the air. Even now, as the first day comes to a close. 

Clarke barely hears Bellamy’s footsteps across the floor of the living room, but notices the two glasses of wine he holds. He silently offers her one of them and she smiles in appreciation. He takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch, his body angled towards her. 

She follows his lead without a second thought and curls up in her corner, facing him as she takes a sip of the wine. And she is suddenly more appreciative of Wanda and her Welcome Wagon ways as she tasted the sweetness of the white liquid. 

“Are you ready for your first day tomorrow, Mr. King?” Clarke asks with a smile.

Bellamy just shakes his head with a laugh, “God, I hope so.”

“Is that what you do? I mean, did. Back — well, before. Were you a teacher?” The question seems odd rolling off her tongue, but this is their life now. And she’s realizing just how little she knows about him before. 

“Um, I was planning on it.” Bellamy shrugs, leaning forward slightly. “I am — was — in my last semester. Getting my Masters in American History. I wanted to be a high school teacher, yeah. But I was a mechanic — just making ends meet until I graduated.”

Clarke nods, watching the man sitting across from her. She never would have pegged him for a history buff. He was truly a mystery. And she found herself wanting to solve every last piece. 

“I guess they expedited the process when this all happened. Wish we could have had this happen before I wrote that horrendously long paper last month.” Bellamy almost starts to laugh, but it’s as if he realizes what he has just said and frowns instead. His eyes grow hard and he clears his throat. When he looks up at her she can nearly hear the guilt screaming off his expression. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny.”

“It’s okay.” She laughs, not because of what he said, but because he’s right and she shouldn’t be laughing. But she is. Because she’s so emotionally and physically exhausted she’s sure if she wasn’t laughing she’d be crying. She runs her free hand over her face before leaning against the soft cushions at her side. “So, I guess what you’re saying is Ark, Minnesota with a wife you barely know wasn’t part of your five-year plan?”

Bellamy smiles, swirling his wine glass around gently. She notices he’s barely taken a sip of his and hers is nearing its last gulp. 

“Guess not.”

“Mine either.” Clarke clips, looking over at the empty fireplace. “But honestly, I didn’t really know what tomorrow was going to bring — so I guess my life really didn’t change all that much, except now I get to experience those legendary Midwest winters while figuring it out.”

“I thought I overheard you tell that — that kid at the coffee shop you were in clinical or something. I figured you were a nurse.”

“Pre-med student.” Clarke nods, picking at the non-existent fuzz on her yoga pants. “My mom’s idea. She’s the Chief of Surgery at Walden Medical. A daughter that’s nothing less than superb in the medical field is a dream come true.”

The bitterness oozes out of her even when she doesn’t mean for it to. In all honestly, Clarke is interested in being a doctor. It isn’t her first love, but the idea of helping people who can’t do it on their own has always interested her. And going to work with her parents when she was younger made it so that line of work was always a given in her book. And then her father passed away and everything that reminded her of her life before the accident gave her a sense of loathing; her mother’s detailed life plan for her being at the forefront of that hatred. 

“So you get a fresh start.” Bellamy says, as if understanding her. “What are you going to do with it?”

Clarke shrugs, “I think my first order of business is to figure out where the hell we are. Does this town even offer more than a gas station and a flashing red light in the center of town?”

“Good question.”

“Besides, these walls are far too bare.” She points around them. “We’re going to need some artwork around here. That’ll keep me busy for a couple of days — once I find the art supplies I need.”

“You’re an artist.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. And she likes the finality in it. Bellamy is the first person to call her one. And he hasn’t even seen her work. Back home it was always a side thing. Something she did for pleasure. Her mother would comment on her spending too much time on her drawings. Or her friends would always joke about her hobby taking over. That’s how she ended up working at the coffeehouse in the first place. They were looking for an someone to help with the mural inside and doing the daily chalk menu outside. That part-time job turned into a barista and that had led her here. 

“Yeah.” She says with a smile, “Yeah, I am.”

“Good to know. Guess I probably need to learn these kind of things — you know, being married and all.”

“Oh right,” Clarke smirks, watching the way he fidgets a little at the reminder. “I wondered what you were still doing here.”

He laughs and it’s a relieved tone. She can almost see the way his chest loosens and his shoulders drop. His fingers run through his tussled curls as he looks back at her. “Think we should talk about that?”

“What’s to talk about? Penelope and Blake are married. Clarke and Bellamy are living together under such pretenses. It seems pretty spelled out to me.” Her logic always had a way of taking over as a defense mechanism and in this moment it was protecting her from completely losing her sanity. 

“Right.” He nods, only sounding dejected. “Well at least one of us has it all figured out.”

She frowns. She hadn’t meant for him to completely close up to her because of what she’d said. Clarke knew she had a way of making things more black and white then they were. Her mother used to criticize how unrealistic she could be when it came to other people’s feelings. She suddenly feels guilty for the way she’s come across. She hadn’t meant to sound so closed off to the conversation.

“Well, I think I’m going to call it a night.” Bellamy speaks first, standing up from the couch. “I’ve pulled out the couch in the office downstairs and I’ve gotten the things I’ll need in the morning so I shouldn’t wake you.” 

Clarke glances across the dark entryway to the dimly lit office space. She can just make out the pullout bed adorned with some blankets and pillows. Apparently going into the Witness Protection Program meant they thought of everything for you. 

She looks back just in time to see him walking back toward the kitchen.

“How do you take your coffee?” She asks, suddenly grasping for straws as to not in their conversation on such an unintended sour note.

Bellamy turns back to her with confusion written on his face.

“I mean, we’re married, right?” Clarke sits up a little straighter, nervous energy coursing through her. “Married couples should know how each other takes their coffee. And well — you ordered some fancy espresso thing at the coffeehouse that night. So unless you’re always that fancy with your caffeinated beverage — which if you are, I’m totally screwed because they did not pack us an espresso machine —“

“Black.” He cuts her off rambling and the amusement is written across his face with a hint of something Clarke isn’t sure she’s seen before. “With a dash of nutmeg and one sugar.”

“That I can manage.” She smiles.

“What about you?” 

“Just milk.” 

“That I can manage.” He echoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! And don't worry, we'll start moving a bit faster once I get the ground work laid out. And if you have questions or want to chat come find me on Tumblr: fourfinick!


	3. We Don't Need A Babysitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! The response for this story has been amazing, thank you so very much! I'm so glad you're all enjoying it! Again, still not beta-ed. And it's my own fault, I've been so busy to reach out to those who have offered (so terribly sorry!). Please forgive all mistakes! And enjoy!

_Too_ quiet had never been something Bellamy was concerned with in their small home in the middle of the busy streets of Walden.  In fact, there had been nights he’d shove a pillow over his head to block out the car horns, screaming maniacs down the streets, or other typical city noises.  There was never a true moment of silence and Bellamy thought it was something he craved.

 

Now he had it.

 

And it was terrible.  He’s not sure what kept him awake more; the uncomfortable nature of the pullout mattress or hearing every little crack and creek their new house made.  He heard Clarke’s unfamiliar footsteps sometime in the middle of the night as she roamed the second floor.  Octavia’s iPod playing her typical bedtime playlist quit around three in the morning and he’d become even more aware of the silence. 

 

Silence allowed his mind to wander. At a time when he wanted nothing more than constant distraction from the ever present pit in his stomach. His lack of control in their current state caused a new wave of nausea each time it reentered his mind. The fact that it was a situation they were in _indefinitely_ only made his head pound with all the ways it could go south.  And now he was not only responsible for himself and Octavia, but Clarke. His _wife_.  

 

At first he had assumed it was only a verbal formality the bureau was using to make their move across the country a bit more believable.  But then he had seen Clarke unpack their framed marriage license out of a box that was labeled for their bedroom.  Mr. and Mrs. Blake King. And just like that it all became that much more real.  He and Clarke had shared a quick glance before she shoved it into the back of their closet and went to unpacking throw pillows. 

 

His mind was too busy for silence and that’s all this town seemed to offer once ten o’clock rolled around.  But finally, between Octavia’s playlist fading in and out and Clarke’s late night pacing, Bellamy finds a restless sleep that ends far too soon when his alarm breaks into the silence like a burglar breaking into a vault.

 

He sits straight up in bed and instantly reaches toward the end table where the alarm sits.  He’s tempted to hit snooze, but he knows that will end with him running late for his first day.  So instead, he pushes his fingers through his tangled mop of curls and heads for the downstairs bathroom.  Walking slowly as he stretches out his aching muscles. 

 

The shower’s warm stream does little to stop his rapid thoughts, but it does sooth his nerves.  It still surprises him just how much has changed in the course of several weeks: the trial, the sentencing, and their sudden uprooting. He doesn’t even feel like the same person he was when this all started.  His life had never been handed to him on a silver platter, but he at least had some form of say in it.  Now he feels like a leaf caught in a tornado.

 

He just wants to land in one piece.

 

After getting ready with only a small amount of confusion as to where he had originally packed some of his belongings, he makes his way toward the back of the house and into the kitchen. The light above the stove has been left on — he assumes by Clarke — and it offers a dim glow in the dark room. The fall sun is late today, a sign of just how close winter is, and dawn has barely pushed over the horizon. He stands at the kitchen sink, staring out at their backyard and for the first time he truly notices they’re situated in what seems like a decent neighborhood.  Nicer than anything he and Octavia had before. 

 

To his right a small beep alerts him and he sees the coffee pot kick on from where it sits on the opposite kitchen counter. It’s then he notices the little arrangement that sits around the small stainless steel lifesaver.

 

Bellamy walks over and picks up the travel coffee mug with a faint smile on his face when he looks at the little bowl of what looked like a cinnamon sugar blend sitting atop a handwritten note.

 

_We have 0 in the way of groceries.  But we had coffee and some Snickerdoodle cookies from Wanda’s care package.  Must be a sign from the Witness Protection gods.  Have a good first day._

_-Clarke_

 

_P.S. – Sorry for the cookie crumbles that will probably end up in your coffee.  Rubbing cinnamon and sugar off cookies is not a skill set I have acquired._

 

His chuckle breaks past his lips before he even realizes he’s grinning and something inside him stirs in a way he’s not at all comfortable with.  Not now. Not with everything that has happened to them.  Not while it continues to happen to them.  So instead, he corals his thoughts and pours himself a quick cup of coffee with a blend of cinnamon sugar cookie bits in it and heads out the door. 

 

His first day as a high school teacher awaits him. His dream has apparently come true. He just never expected it to come with this much baggage.

 

\--

 

The school, like the rest of this town Bellamy is slowly realizing, looks like something one might find in a John Green novel. The brick building is aged with character and classic architecture.  The landscaping and front entrance looks like so many he’s seen in several of Octavia’s favorite movies.  The flagpole stands tall in the small courtyard and a sign that reads Ark High School just in front of it. 

 

He tightens his jaw and each step forward feels like its weighed with lead.  His palms feel sweaty and his heart is racing.  This is the first time he’s had a chance to realize just how unprepared for all of this he _really_ is. Sure, he’s had a couple of experiences student teaching back home but he’s always had someone else’s lesson plan to go off of.  Now the classroom is his. And he’s been a little preoccupied.

 

Pushing his way through the front doors, Bellamy sees the main offices just head to the right.  He walks past a stereotypical trophy case and takes a minute to glance over the different awards.  Some dating back to the 1980s, but more recent records include a championship for women’s basketball and men’s football.  The pictures of the teams sit beside their trophies and just as Bellamy’s about to turn away he catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the glass.

 

He swallows hard and adjusts his royal blue tie. He’s out of his league.

 

“Get your shit together, Bellamy.” He mumbles playing with the sleeves of his crisp   terra cotta colored shirt.  He looks down at the glossy tiles below him and turns on his heels.  Squaring his shoulders and heading into the main office.

 

“Good morning, Mr. King!” Wanda greets with her usual, or so Bellamy assumes, amount of sunshine.  “How was your first night in your lovely new house?”

 

“Very nice, thank you.” Bellamy smiles. “Still a lot to get done.  Unpacking to do.”

 

“Oh well, I bet your lovely wife will have that place feeling like a home in no time.” Wanda moves from around the desk to head towards the principal’s office.

 

Bellamy gives a tight nod, “I’m sure she will.”

 

“Thank you, Wanda.” A man says as he steps out of the doorway and glances toward Bellamy. “Ah Mr. King, pleasure to finally meet you.  Please, come on in.”

 

Bellamy shakes his outstretched hand. This must be Mr. Kane. He’s quite a bit younger than Bellamy had pictured.  And he’s nowhere near as chipper as his assistant.  Of course, he’s not sure anyone in the world is _that_ chipper. 

 

Bellamy follows him into the office and glances around at the somewhat typical surroundings.  Filing cabinets, university praise hanging on the walls, and miscellaneous items of school spirit scattered about.  The only thing missing is the cheesy team inspiring posters his old principal’s office used to have hanging.  Unfortunately, Bellamy was acquainted with those posters more times than he’d like to admit. 

 

He shuts the door behind them and gestures to one of the chairs in front of the desk, “Please, Mr. King, have a seat.”

 

“Oh, you can call me Bla — “

 

“Bellamy.” The man says so casually as he undoes the button of his suit jacket and takes a seat behind his desk.

 

Bellamy’s eyes go wide and he’s frozen in place as Marcus just looks up at him with amusement.  He reaches for the mug sitting near his keyboard and takes a slow sip before clearing his throat.  All the while Bellamy’s heart is in his throat.  Is this one of Dante Wallace’s men?  Have they known all along?  He knew he didn’t trust that Jaha guy any farther than he could throw him.

 

“Ark, Minnesota.” He finally speaks, either completely unaware of Bellamy’s panic or completely uninterested. “Quite the popular place for retired FBI agents.  Or at least I like to think so.  And please, do have a seat.  Can I have Wanda get you anything?  Coffee? Water?  A shot of tequila?  Always good for those first day jitters.”

 

“Uh, no.  Thank you.” Bellamy stammers, giving a salute with his travel coffee mug as he takes a seat.

 

“Ah, probably for the best anyway. Always hard to explain away the smell of alcohol on a teacher’s breath.” He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “How are you settling in? You and your family doing alright?”

 

This man is like a shock to the system. First he introduces himself as a retired FBI agent and then continues to say absolutely nothing about how or why he’s been placed here.  Obviously he’s been here _a lot_ longer than the one day Bellamy and them have.  And now he just wants to make small talk? 

 

“Y – yeah.  We’re doing okay.” He nods. “Good as to be expected.”

 

The older man smiles, “It’s a bit of a shock, I’m sure. Octavia will do great once she gets settled in with her classes here.  And Clarke seems to be the type that can fit in —“

 

“Excuse me,” Bellamy interrupts, this man’s flippant attitude toward knowing far too much about them finally snapping at his last nerve. “But you seem to know an awful lot about us and forgive me for being more than a little skeptical, but what they hell are you doing here? Where you sent here for us? Because we don’t need a babysitter. _I_ can take care of my family just fine.”

 

“Already including Clarke as part of the family.” He smiles with an expression that’s a bit smug, but also filled with what looks an awful lot like pride. “I told Thelonious this was going to be an easy transition.”

 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Bellamy grinds out.

 

“I wasn’t sent here for you, per say. I was sent here as a liaison of sorts for the Witness Protection Program.  Your contact to your past, if you will.” He explains. “I’m here in case anything were to go wrong.”

 

“Nothing is going to go wrong.” _It can’t go wrong._

“I hope you’re right, but this is just a precaution. You and your family have done a lot for justice.  You didn’t think we’d just hang you out to dry, did you?”

 

“And a known FBI agent retiring to fucking No-Where-Ville, Minnesota doesn’t send up any sort of red flags in case one of Dante’s men _is_ looking for us?” Bellamy questions bitterly.   

 

“Loyal and you’re cunning.  The bureau could use someone like you.” He muses with a smile. “But as far as the world knows, Eric Jefferies, decorated agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation retired to sunny Miami, Florida about a week before Marcus Kane, professor at a nearly nonexistent university decided to move to Ark, Minnesota and take the vacant principal position here.”

 

The room’s silence is strangely welcome to Bellamy as his mind tries to wrap around another piece of this fucked puzzle he’s been thrown into. He leans forward, resting an elbow against his knee as he rubs his forward.  Why didn’t someone tell them about this Marcus being here? He’s not sure if he’s relieved or slightly annoyed at his presence.  Part of him is glad, even if he’d never admit it, that they have reinforcements in the events that things do take a turn.  But Bellamy was also looking forward to possibly being able to fall into this life comfortably and without reminder of what brought them here in the first place.

 

Like they were ever truly going to forget.

 

Bellamy looks up just as Marcus stands and starts back toward his closed door.  He turns the knob and looks back at his newest high school teacher, “Now, if you’ll follow me, Mr. King.  I’d love to show you to your new classroom.”

 

And just like that their conversation is over. Bellamy can practically feel the close of this topic.  Marcus didn’t want there to be a revolving door on this issue.  He wants his identity to be stated and remembered, but not brought up comfortably. Questions don’t need to be asked because he had given everything Bellamy needs to know.  And most importantly, this is where to find him.

 

He stands up and gives a small nod, still in a state of shock over everything that has just transpired.  Bellamy is beginning to wonder if there was ever going to be a day in the near future where something _didn’t_ knock the wind out of his chest and his feet right out from under him.

 

“And you were right, Wanda.” Marcus smiles, slapping Bellamy on the back as he walks through the door. “I think attendance in our AP American History class is going to skyrocket from here on out.”

 

Wanda lets out a delightful giggle as they walk back through the small lobby.  And Bellamy just tried to swallow the growing knot in his throat.

 

\--

 

_Do I have a story for you later._

 

Clarke’s phone startles her as she’s walking through what must be considered downtown for this tiny hole in the wall. She pulls it out of her back pocket and smiles maybe just a little bit too much when she sees the text message is from Bellamy — or Blake, as he’s been programmed into her phone. She pauses on the sidewalk and begins to type out a message. 

_Let me guess, you’ve witnessed another murder and we’re moving to Amish country._

 

Hitting send, she bites down on her bottom lip. She shouldn’t joke about it. She knows that. Their situation is a far cry from a comedy, but she knows if she doesn’t joke she’ll probably cave in on herself. She’s not sure how her new family — that’s still a reality that’s hard to swallow — handles trauma or stress, but right now she feels total avoidance is what’s best for her.

 

Of course, late at night when her mind won’t stop turning over every little detail of that horrific night avoidance doesn’t seem at all possible.  She’s always heard of people having nightmares after traumatic incidents, but she never truly believed they could be _that_ terrible.   She’d woken up in a cold sweat or two before over a nightmare in her lifetime, but it usually took her no time at all to realize it was just that: a dream.  She was skeptical about how going through a traumatic event would alter that.

 

But now she sees that man’s lifeless eyes as he lies against the café table.  She sees the blood dripping into a pool at his feet.  How it splatters when droplets land on his once nice pair of loafers. She remembers the ringing in her ears after the fatal shot goes off.  She feels the heaviness in her chest as she holds her breath; waiting for his killer to realize his job isn’t over.  There are witnesses. 

 

And every dream, no matter how small in detail brings her crashing back to reality only to leave her awake for hours as she tries to calm herself down.  It had been bad before they were placed under Witness Protection, but her new surroundings only left little to help sooth her fears. 

 

Clarke chews at her nails, silently watching her phone as the little grey typing box appears on her screen.   And gives a nearly audible sigh of relief when his response appears and then followed by another.

 

_Cute. You’ve got jokes.  
But I’ll tell you about it later.  Better in person. _

 

Normally that response wouldn’t be good enough for her. She’d want the details as soon as she could get them.  Why send such a text if you weren’t planning on explaining yourself?  But something in her trusts Bellamy, even with the most mundane of things.  And trust wasn’t something she dealt out easily.  So instead of pushing for more she clicks the top of her phone and starts to shove it back into her pocket, until she hears it ding again.  She pulls it back this time and grins wide at the multiple texts.

 

_Oh and thanks for the coffee with a hint of cookie this morning._

_Probably my new favorite._

_Have a good day._

 

It’s childish and embarrassing, but just like that she feels slightly lifted from her earlier mood.  Her tired and baffled state seems to ease as she continues her walk down the quaint sidewalks of Ark, Minnesota.  Of course, she’s completely lost.  The directions she had printed out earlier before leaving their house around nine this morning told her she should be getting close.

 

Clarke pauses again, reading over the sheet. Wondering if she’s somehow managed to get herself lost within the fifteen minutes it took her to walk a straight line in to the center of town. 

 

“Stare at that piece of paper any longer it might change colors.” A voice interrupts Clarke’s inner dialogue.

 

She looks up to see she’s paused in front of Reyes’ Auto Shop and a woman with grease up to her elbows is walking toward her with an amused smirk firmly planted on her face. 

 

“Uh, yeah.” Clarke stutters, looking back around the small town. “I guess I’m lost.”

 

“We get that a lot here in our one stoplight town.” She grins, pulling a rag from the back pocket of her overalls. “So obviously you’re new around here or one of the seven annual tourists we get.”

 

“The former.” She nods. “I — uh — my family just moved here yesterday actually.”

 

“ _Why_?” The girl asks with an odd amount of disbelief and a strange grimace on her face.

 

Clarke can’t help but laugh and she’s surprised by how easy her new identity takes over, “My husband just got a job at Ark High School.  Teacher.”

 

“Wow.” Her eyebrows rise in mock understanding and she finishes wiping off her hands before pointing at the instructions in Clarke’s hands. “May I?”

 

She hands over the sheet she’d printed earlier from Google and watches as the brunette scans over the words before quickly handing it back to her.

 

“Unfortunately you’re looking for Pens and Needles.” She points across the street at a vacant shop. “And they closed up about seven months ago.  Owners decided to retire and head south.  Shame really, it was a pretty nice little art supply shop.  Town really loved it.” 

 

Clarke’s heart drops a bit and looks back at the girl, “Thanks uh —“

 

“Raven.  Raven Reyes.” She smiles, sticking out her hand in greeting. 

 

“Cl — Penelope King.” Clarke returns her welcome. “You wouldn’t happen to know any place else I could get some supplies, would you?”

 

“Well, there’s a local paint and hardware shop about two blocks from here.  They might have a couple things you’re looking for.  But I think you’re best bet is the Wal-Mart out by the interstate.” Raven offers.

 

“Okay.” Clarke nods, deflated. “Thanks again.”

 

She’s starting to walk away when she hears Raven speak again.

 

“Hey, Penelope.” She smiles. “There’s a fish fry this Friday down at the KC Hall.  You should bring your husband and meet everyone — like all fifty of us.”

 

Clarke laughs, “Um, okay.  We might.” 

 

Raven waves before disappearing back into the auto body and Clarke turns to head back down the street.  Well, it looks like they already have plans for their first weekend in Ark.

Now just to figure out what the hell a fish fry is.

 

\--

 

“So let me get this straight,” Clarke begins, holding up her paintbrush in one hand and resting her other hand on her hip. “They sent James Bond of old to live out his retirement years in Ark, Minnesota just on the off chance that something goes wrong?”

 

“Basically.” Bellamy nods, leaning against the table on their back porch, looking over the different canvas paintings Clarke must have started this afternoon while he was at work.  “And apparently he’s not at all bitter about the idea.”

 

Clarke gives him a disbelieving look before going back to her current design of splatters and swirls that she has coordinated to go along with their living room décor.

 

“So we have a babysitter?” Octavia asks from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the same table Clarke’s working at. In their short time, Clarke has realized Octavia likes to sit on tabletops more than she likes to sit in nearby vacant chairs. 

 

Bellamy glares at his sister for echoing his earlier feelings from this morning and crosses his arms over his chest, deciding to ignore the question all together. “How was your first day?”

 

“High school is high school no matter where you are.” She shrugs, “I did find out they have a pretty good track and field program. I might join this spring.”

 

“We’ll see how good your grades are come this spring.” Bellamy sounds more parental that Clarke thought possible. “Speaking of which, I know your Calculus teacher assigned homework, you probably need to get started on it.”

 

“Great.” Octavia groans, jumping off the table and heading toward the sliding glass door that leads inside. “You weren’t already a pain in the ass before about school, now you have an in on what exactly my work load is.”

 

Clarke looks up to see them share amused looks before Octavia twists her hip to bump Bellamy’s.  She’s smiling as she disappears inside and Bellamy watches after her a moment longer.

 

“You take good care of her.” Clarke muses, getting back to work.

 

“Someone has to.” He says offhandedly. “Our dads never really entered the picture and Mom passed away four years ago. And before that it wasn’t like she was there all that often.”

 

Her heart sinks with how matter-o-fact he sounds about the tragedy that was their living situation.  Most would find pity on themselves, but instead he simply takes the responsibility that’s been thrust upon him.  He doesn’t even sound at all bitter.  She wants to apologize, but she knows he wouldn’t hear it. Not really.  So instead she puts her paintbrush down and wipes her hands on her old jeans.

 

“I found something today while finishing up with the unpacking.” She says, before disappearing into their house.  She returns moments later with a manila envelope in one hand and something cradled in the other.  She offers the envelope over to Bellamy. “About us.”

 

“What?” He asks, opening up the top and pulling out the papers inside.

 

“Who we are.  Blake, Julia, and Penelope King.” She says, watching as he flips through the papers. “Not down to the fine details, or anything.  Those are up to us.  Just the big picture stuff.  But you and I both went to LSU — that’s where we met, I guess.  You’re twenty-nine and I’m twenty-five.  Julia is eighteen, graduating from high school this year. You have distant relatives in California.  Mine are out in Montana.  You have a master’s in American History.  And I graduated with a Bachelor’s in Business.  Those sort of things.”

 

Bellamy’s eyes scan over the different forms of official documentation before looking back up at Clarke, “I guess this is all real, isn’t it?”

 

“Very.” Clarke nods, opening up her other hand to show the set of wedding bands she’d also found in the envelope.

 

Bellamy looks from the palm of her hand and back up to her eyes.  His intense gaze makes her squirm slightly as she realizes she’s actually holding her breath. This was not at all how she envisioned any of this.  And now here she is, the one offering up their wedding rings. 

 

“Look on the bright side,” Clarke shrugs. “We didn’t have to go through the stress of planning a wedding.”

 

“Right.” Bellamy nods, reaching over to grab the band that’s easily his. “But every girl deserves a decent proposal.”

 

Suddenly she feels like a ton of bricks are sitting atop her chest as she watches him slide the run on his finger. Like every interaction she’s had with this man, Clarke always feels unsettled.  Not in an uncomfortable way, but in the sense that she’s craving more. Reaching for more backstory. Curious to know what thoughts are behind his mostly unreadable expressions.  Fascinated by his honesty. 

 

Clarke quickly refocuses herself and slides on her own ring like it doesn’t feel like a total reality shift and turns back to her paintings with a bright smile, “That’s the beauty of our situation. We can make up whatever story you want for our engagement.  I’m thinking you took me to the South of France and wined and dined me until I had no choice by to say yes.”

 

Bellamy leans on the opposite side of the table and smiles with a shake of his head as he looks down at the paintings in front of them, “Nah.  You deserve something better.”

 

Clarke gives him a strange look, but before she can think too hard on his response he’s picked up an extra paintbrush and glances back up at her with a boyish grin, “Tell me where I can help, Picasso.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! And know things are still being revealed, so if you still have questions — they'll be answered. Soon! Thanks again for reading! If you want, come say hey over on Tumblr(fourfinick)!


	4. The Living Is Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, it needs to be said: THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for showing this story such amazing support. I have truly been welcomed into the Bellarke fanfiction fandom with such open arms and I'm so very thankful. So thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. This chapter is mush. Total and complete mush. With some fluff. Because I don't want the drama too soon. Consider this the "we're still getting our feet wet" chapter. 'Kay? Enjoy!

“Are you sure she wasn’t just fucking with you?” Bellamy asks, his arms resting atop the cool metal of the grocery cart he is dutifully pushing through the endless aisles of food.

 

“Yes, because that’s how they have fun around here. Messing with the new girl — how very Brat Pack of you, _Husband_.” Clarke muses, walking ahead of him and glancing over the different selections of cereal.

 

“So a fish fry?” He repeats, obviously sidestepping any further teasing. “And you want to go?”

 

She shrugs, “I mean what else are we going to do Friday night?”

 

“Okay.” He agrees. “We’ll go. Just one thing: what the hell is a fish fry?”

 

“Good question.”

 

He laughs at her ridiculous expression when she looks back at him before she continues her search for breakfast food. Bellamy shouldn’t feel this comfortable in their new life.  He’s tried to convince himself that he’s just doing it for appearances, but in moments like this he knows deep down he’s found an odd sense of contentment. In moments where — without a single word exchanged between them — they’ve fallen into some kind of routine. Within their short week here their roles in this makeshift life have somehow already started to take shape.

 

And Clarke is silently becoming the spearhead to everything.  He grudgingly admits it doesn’t feel like his day is complete until he’s sitting down at the end of it, completely exhausted, and telling her every detail. And more importantly, he looks forward to her stretching across their sofa with practiced grace and giving him the play-by-play of her day. 

 

Of course, their recaps don’t last near as long as he thinks they will and soon they’re talking about life _before_.  She’ll have her favorite song come on the radio and it’ll remind her of her senior prom. He’ll see a kid wearing Blue Devils’ basketball shirt at school and it’ll throw him back to his alma mater. They find momentary comfort in this different world by remembering the one they left behind.  And Bellamy finds peace in the fact that he’s not the only one struggling to let go. 

 

A box being tossed into the cart pulls him from his trance and he looks down to see the choice Clarke has made. A familiar red box with a goofy cartoon captain looks back up at him and he grins.  He looks up at her and shakes his head, “You might as well eat a bowl of sugar.”

 

“Hey.” Clarke points an accusing finger in his direction and the smirk that plays on her lips makes his smile soften. “If it tasted that good drowning in milk, I would.”

 

He remains silent and just watches as she turns back to the aisles around them.  She doesn’t say anything else either, but their silence is natural. It’s _normal_. And normal isn’t something either of them is familiar with.  Family “norms” were rarities in their households.  Bellamy has learned in their short time together how the loss of Clarke’s father not only altered her life, but also all but destroyed her already rocky relationship with her mother.  And his own family story was a dark storm cloud in his life, except for Octavia. She is his silver lining.

 

“Should I get you this cardboard cereal?” Clarke asks, holding up a box of a bland looking fiber mixture before adding a small dig. “ _Old_ Man.”

 

He pushes himself to a standing position and moves around their cart.  Bellamy stalks toward her slowly and the way her bright blue eyes linger over him doesn’t go completely unnoticed.  He smirks down at her and takes the box out of her hand.  Looking down at the content like he’s studying a Civil War relic before putting it back on the shelf. 

 

“You know, cereal is one of the worst things you can have for breakfast.” He says with a matter-of-fact tone, one that Clarke has learned to roll her eyes at almost as quickly as Octavia does.

 

“Well believe it or not, I was in school for pre-med not culinary.” Clarke counters, her tone a little bit more on edge than it had been.  Something Bellamy has learned comes with anything to do with her past life.  Because as much as she seems to miss it from time to time, there’s a bitterness that can’t be shaken from her either. She looks down at the white tiles beneath their shoes. “Cooking was never something I had much time for.”

 

“Good.” Bellamy smiles, knowing the best way through this impending storm is sidestepping it altogether. “You taught me how to paint —“

 

“What you did was _not_ painting.” Clarke chokes on her laugh as she crosses her arms over her chest.

 

“So _I_ am going to teach you how to cook.” He continues. 

 

Clarke watches him with curious eyes. And he sees it. The relaxed nature that comes along with someone you trust.  Your pretenses start to fall away and you’re left with only yourself. The idea of trust is a topic that hasn’t come up in his mind before recently. Trusting others outside of Octavia is another entirely new concept about this life and there’s trepidation even in the littlest parts.

 

“Where did you learn how —“ She stops herself, remembering the late night stories of Bellamy’s absentee father and fall-over drunk mother.  She bites down on her bottom lip and looks away sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

 

Landmines around every topic.

 

Bellamy gives a weak smile, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking around the grocery store. “Food Network was the only thing that O would fall asleep too for awhile.  Hard not to let some of it sink in after awhile.”

 

Clarke nods, chewing down on her fingernail before gesturing down the aisle.  “Lead the way, Chef.”

 

Bellamy starts down the aisle, quickly turning away from the processed foods and heading back toward the produce. They’d come past it when they’d walked in, but Clarke had mumbled something about getting nonperishables first.   He’d wanted argue, ask why they had to walk passed items that were on their list and blatantly available just to come back to them later.  But the petite blonde found speed he didn’t even know she possessed and was gone before he even had time to bag an apple. 

 

“Mr. King.” A formal voice stops Bellamy in his tracks. He looks just inside the baking aisle to see a fellow teacher walking slowly toward them. 

 

“Ms. Naidu, please call me Blake.” Bellamy greets the tall, regal woman.  Clarke stops her cart just beside him and comes to stand next to him.  Bellamy instantly jumps into his assigned role and stands just a bit closer to Clarke as he introduces the two. “This is my wife, Penelope. Ms. Naidu is our Health Sciences teacher.”

 

“Indra.” She corrects, reaching out a hand to shake Clarke’s.  “Nice to meet you. Blake has told us nice things about you.”

 

“All lies.” Clarke giggles at her own joke as she drops Indra’s hand. 

 

The woman watches her for a long moment, barely cracking an expression.  Clarke tenses awkwardly, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and Bellamy can’t help but grin at the strange exchange. In hindsight, he probably could have mentioned the overly serious nutrition teacher the school has.

 

“Well, enjoy the rest of your evening.” Indra nods, looking back at Bellamy. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“See you tomorrow.” He nods, giving a small wave and watching her turn down the next aisle for a moment before glancing back at Clarke — who was a beautiful shade of crimson that would be absolutely breathtaking if she didn’t have such an amusing expression on her face.

 

“Real charmer, that one.” She blurts out, staring in the direction of her latest introduction. 

 

“Miss Congeniality of Ark, Minnesota.” He agrees. He moves to start back down the main aisle in the direction of the produce once again. “But she’s actually pretty decent.  Once you get past the whole ‘I don’t believe in smiling’ thing.”

 

They continue through the small grocery store in relative quiet. Bellamy stops to look at several different bottles of olive oil and Clarke tosses multiple bags of gummies and candies into their cart.  He almost stops her, reverting back to his ways with Octavia.  Making her pick only one.  But he bites his tongue.  Because she certainly doesn’t need someone telling her sour chews are going to rot her teeth out of her head.  And he definitely doesn’t want to start _that_ argument.

 

Plus, the childish way her eyes light up when she finds a certain bag of candy she likes twists his heart in ways he’s not certain he’s ready to face. 

 

Bellamy is picking through oranges when Clarke finally speaks up and breaks their silence.

 

“So what do you tell people?”

 

He’s caught off guard by her question and looks back at her with a raised eyebrow, “What?”

 

“What do you tell people?” She repeats. “Indra says you say nice things about me.  What did you tell her?”

 

Bellamy watches her.  Her demeanor is entirely different from earlier. Her hands fidget on the bar of the cart and her eyes seem to bounce all over the store.  The intensely focused woman he’s come to know fairly well over these last several months since their ordeal started seems almost unsure. It doesn’t seem possible. And it’s endearing.

 

“Just little things.” He shrugs, “I guess. Things I’ve picked up on.”

 

“Like?” She holds the word out like she’s bating him and he grins.

 

“That you’re definitely _not_ a morning person.” He begins, going back to his task of picking out oranges. “You’d rather watch terribly scripted tween dramas on television than anything remotely news related.  You and O have the same taste in music.  You silently mouth the words to whatever you’re reading.” He ties the bag of oranges and tosses it in the cart before moving on to apples. “You actually think the jokes on Laffy Taffy wrappers are funny.  Like _genuinely_ funny —“

 

“Because they are.” She interrupts with a giggle.

 

“And that you usually don’t let a day go by without some color of paint ending up in your hair.” He finishes, daring to glance back at her.  Her expression is unreadable and he’s suddenly embarrassed by he’s blatant honesty.

 

“Wow, that’s —“

 

“All lies.” He interrupts, repeating her earlier joke, with a wicked smirk.  Wanting to move away from his surge of honesty. 

 

Clarke gives a click of her tongue before reaching for a nearby pear and tossing it his way.  Bellamy catches it easily and laughs. 

 

“So glad I’m stuck with health nut _and_ a comedian.” She groans, following him toward the vegetables.

 

\--

 

Her shoes crunch the rocks beneath her feet as she follows closely behind him.  Her eyes are drawn to the small gathering that stands just outside the entrance of the dated building.  People are standing around a large cooking station and makeshift bar.  Lights are strung up across the beams that help hold the large awning up over the doors and a handmade banner reads “Ark Knights of Columbus’ Annual Fish Fry” in bright red paint.  Music is blasting from somewhere inside the hall and it all seems vaguely familiar.

 

Not the event.  No, a fish fry is something entirely new.  But the atmosphere comforts her.  Back home they’d had a Knights of Columbus hall that held several local events. In the summer it would be the home of several children’s day camps.  The fall always meant there was a festival where the best of the best church ladies would bring well-loved baked goods to be sold in order to send some do-gooder across the oceans for one charitable act or another.  And the winter and spring usually meant random events that east coast weather made hard to host outdoors.  Of course, there was always a wedding or five each year to be held in this city landmark. 

 

And Clarke remembered that hall well.

 

“Think they’re checking I.D.s?” Octavia grins, looking back at where Clarke and Bellamy are standing just on the edge of the parking lot.

 

“Don’t even think about it.” Bellamy grumbles deeply and Clarke ignores how the gravel in his voice is seemingly attached to the tug in her stomach. 

 

“And they probably don’t have to.” Clarke adds. “They probably have all 50 residents ages memorized.  You’re screwed.”

 

Octavia laughs and then all of their attentions are drawn in the direction of her name — well, _Julia_ — being called from across the lot.  The brunette quickly turns and waves at the group of girls before looking back at her brother and sister-in-law. 

 

“I’ll see you guys later.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Bellamy waves sarcastically. “Nice of you to spend time with your family.”

 

“Don’t forget, you guys are _married_.” Octavia responds. “Might help if you didn’t look like you were going to the eighth grade dance.”

 

Clarke’s cheeks burn at Octavia’s comment and she glances down at the toes of her boots, kicking at a stray rock. She hears Bellamy mumble a couple profane words and then she feels something warm against the small of her back. Her head shoots up instantly out of surprise and her blue eyes meet his.  She’s uncharacteristically nervous, but looking at his reassuring gaze gives her a small sense of calm. 

 

“What do you say, _Wife_?” He comments with amusement. “Think they have decent fish here in Minnesota.”

 

_Not a chance._ “Guess we should find out.”

 

\--

 

“So why the Midwest?”

 

“Why _Ark, Minnesota_?” Raven corrects her boyfriend as she leans against one of the oblong tables and slides forward in her folding chair like she’s expecting Clarke to reveal some huge secret.

 

Instead Clarke shrugs, taking a long sip of her lemonade and stares across the crowded dance floor.  Still slightly surprised they’re doing something _besides_ line dancing — even though that thought is a total biased opinion formed by late nights with Lifetime movies she’d find herself fawning over back home. 

 

“Blake had just finished his degree when the AP History position opened up — we both were ready for a change. So here we are.”

 

Clarke looks over at the bar where Bellamy is talking with several people that she doesn’t recognize.  Which is surprising seeing as she feels like between Raven, Octavia, and him within the last few hours they’ve been at this citywide celebration she’s been introduced to most of the people that frequent this small town.

 

Her attention is immediately drawn to the woman standing just a little too close to Bellamy’s left.  She’s obviously involved in their four-person conversation, but her body language speaks of someone whose interests truly lie in the one person to her right.  Clarke bites the inside of her cheek whenever she sees the woman reach out a touch Bellamy’s arm — even if it’s just for a moment.  She sees the way she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder while she watches him intently when he’s speaking.  To Bellamy’s credit he barely seems to notice her blatant actions.  But Clarke’s not dumb.  And she’s been in this girl’s shoes.

 

She’s fucking flirting.  With _her_ husband. Okay, so that term is a _little_ gray for them, but this piece of tart doesn’t know that.  And she obviously doesn’t care. 

 

“Wow.” Wick, Raven’s witty other half speaks up again, drawing Clarke’s attention back to their table and slowly helping her lower her blood pressure. “Looks like someone drew the short stick. I’m pretty sure you’re the first people to move in here since…well, ever.”

 

“That’s not true.” Clarke argues, trying not to glance back over at the bar. “Blake was telling me Ark’s principal moved here several years ago.”

 

“Yeah well, Marcus doesn’t really count.” Wick leans back in his chair, resting an arm around the back of Raven’s. “He’s like some —“

 

“Super secretive spy type.” A man with large goggles sitting atop his head interrupts, grabbing an open chair right next to Clarke.

 

And she would be more interested in investigating his bold fashion statements if her stomach didn’t just drop to the floor at the mention of Marcus being a spy.  Okay, well he obviously wasn’t a spy.  But he definitely wasn’t who he says he is.  Did they know this?  Was it somehow the worst kept secret in this hole in the wall? 

 

“I heard he was a Navy Seal.” The guy — Jasper, if Clarke remembers correctly — continues on.  Speaking animatedly with his hands. “You know, killed men with his bare hands type.”

 

“You’re so full of shit, Jasper.” Raven chokes on a laugh, tossing a package of salt across the table in his direction. “He was a professor before he came here.”

 

“Yeah, professor in assassin school.” Monty Green chimes in now, taking his rightful place next to Jasper — who is his lifelong best friend, basically attached since they left their mothers’ wombs, or at least that’s how Raven tells it.  

 

“Assassin school?” A dark haired man comes to sit next to Monty, filling up the last chair at their table. His features are much more serious than the two men that had just joined their conversation prior. He’s very much intimidating until she sees the way he looks at Monty with such quiet admiration. “That’s what you’re going with?  Really?”

 

“What?” Monty argues. “It’s a thing!”

 

“No.  No it’s not.” Wick says.

 

“That’s what they want you to believe.” Jasper counters.

 

“You’re a conspiracy theorist, aren’t you?” Clarke asks, catching on to their personalities fairly quickly.

 

“Don’t open that can of worms.” Raven warns, shaking her head and looking away as she leans back in her chair and allowing Wick to pull her closer to him.

 

The table erupts in laughter as Jasper looks at her with mock offense and Monty quickly leans over to pat his friend on the shoulder with reassurance.  Clarke grins as she looks around at this band of people.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this included — well, she _could_.  But it had been years ago.  And that was yet another memory from home she wasn’t ready to remember.

 

She feels a hand come to rest on her shoulder and that’s when she notices Bellamy has moved from where he was at the bar to standing just behind her her.  She looks up at him with a small smile, still slightly annoyed.

 

“Dance with me.”

 

And just like that it all seems forgiven. _That’s going to be a dangerous trait for him to possess in the future_ , her mind warns.

 

His voice is low as he looks directly into her eyes and Clarke feels the rest of the world blur around them as she focuses on just him.  And although it’s slightly alarming, the peace she finds almost instantly with him gives her a thrill. She nods as Bellamy looks back at the rest of the people around the table, helping Clarke realize they aren’t actually alone.

 

“If you’ll excuse us,” He says, offering his hand to Clarke as she stands up. “I’m going to borrow my wife for a second.”

 

The group doesn’t really say anything, just Raven and Jasper giving a couple low cat calls while Wick makes a rather colorful joke about it only taking Bellamy a second.  But Clarke barely hears any of it because all she can think about is her fingers laced through his as he finds them a small empty space on the makeshift dance floor in between the other swaying bodies.  The melody is classical and slow moving.  Almost hypnotic and she likes how the sound seems to drown out anything else. 

 

She lets him pull her to him, stepping close and allowing his large frame to envelop her petite one.  One hand rests on his shoulder, while the other remains clasped in his other hand.  At first they’re moving slightly ridged.  They’re trying to find their own rhythm within the music and Clarke’s surprised to find that Bellamy is actually quite smooth on his feet. 

 

They move together in silence, Clarke watching the room around them as she peacefully feels herself relaxing against her partner. Her eyes move from the table she was once sitting at — that group is still speaking with each other animatedly, but she notices how now their body language all seems to be leaning toward her and Bellamy’s general direction.  She then sees Octavia sitting across the room at another table surrounded by her peers — and a boy Clarke’s hoping Bellamy hasn’t noticed yet.  Finally her stomach twists when she sees the woman that was once standing nearly as close to Bellamy as she is now still leaning against the bar.

 

“Who were you talking to earlier?” Clarke asks, breaking their silence and looking up at him.  Only allowing herself to be slightly mesmerized by his handsome features. 

 

“Some of the faculty from the school.” Bellamy says in a quiet tone.

 

“So that woman teaches with you?” She asks, instantly regretting the way her voice sounds full of venom and jealousy. She cringes and closes her eyes as she looks away from him. 

 

“Roma?  Yeah, she’s part of the math department.”

 

Clarke doesn’t say anything because she knows anything she says will only continue to drop her down into the pit of jealousy she never intended to enter to begin with.  She feels Bellamy’s hand that was resting on her hip; move slowly to rest on the small of her back.  He doesn’t place any extra pressure there, but still she finds herself folding in closer to him. 

 

“You have nothing to worry about.” He mumbles against her temple and Clarke swallows hard.  A rush courses through her when she feels the warmth of his breath against her skin.  And her embarrassment about her suddenly very visible emotions overruled by the tenderness in his voice.

 

She gives a dry laugh, “Of course not. You’re _married_ , remember?”  
  


The word drips from her lips like a jail sentence and for the first time she’s afraid that’s how he sees it. And for the first time she also realizes that they’re truly _in_ this. _Together_. They’re tied in _every_ way.  At least as far as the outside world is concerned.  And the weight of that is terrifying. 

 

Bellamy moves his hand that’s holding hers to intertwine their fingers as he rests her hand against his chest. Clarke looks up at him, hoping her vulnerability isn’t on display like she feels that it is.

 

“You have _nothing_ to worry about.” He repeats and the emphasis he puts on his words causes her heart to skip and she can feel the smile tugging on her lips as she again feels herself relax.

 

She dares to bring herself flesh against him, resting her head against his chest as they continue to sway to the music. Her mind returns to its moment of quiet haze and she feels Bellamy squeeze her tight.  The sanctuary she finds wrapped in his arms is like something she hasn’t felt before. 

 

“You’re alright, you know that?” She muses, curling herself completely into him as she speaks. “I think I should probably marry you.”

 

The rumble she feels in his chest when he laughs causes her heart to flutter anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta. All mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoyed despite them!   
> Come say hey over on Tumblr(fourfinick)!


	5. But The Price Ain't Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night they met they witnessed a grisly murder. Now they’re being placed into the Witness Protection Program. Starting life over in Ark, Minnesota was definitely not part of Clarke’s five-year plan. And gaining a wife certainly wasn’t something Bellamy saw himself doing this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been SO long since I've updated! I am so terribly sorry, but I've been out of town during the month of August, and I still am, but I've finally found some time to write. I hope you all enjoy this chapter — it's basically a bit of a build-up chapter for the things to come. So I apologize it's not too action packed. Thank you so much for all the move this story has gotten! You guys have been so awesome, thank you!

“Because I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Octavia!”

 

She’s lacing her shoes when she hears Bellamy’s voice rise and her eyes instantly go toward her doorway.  The two siblings are both downstairs in the kitchen and when she’d left them almost twenty minutes ago the conversation had casual. Bellamy’s sudden outburst would have seemed completely unnecessary if Clarke wasn’t already fully aware of these two’s relationship. 

 

Being in Ark for nearly three months has taught Clarke several things: if you want something from the local market you better remember it _before_ eight o’clock, fall brings about excellent weather and football — the importance of both is interchangeable, and the Blake siblings go from zero to sixty within the blink of an eye. 

 

Standing up from where she’d been sitting on the foot of the bed, Clarke grabs her leather jacket and starts downstairs to where the heated conversation is taking place.  When she enters the kitchen she sees Octavia standing near the dining room table where she’d been doing her homework and Bellamy is leaning against the island, his hands planted firmly in front of him.  He looks like a gorilla ready to strike, which would be a funny comparison if his expression weren’t so infuriated. 

 

“God, Bell.  You _can’t_ control everything.” Octavia yells, not even bothering to acknowledge Clarke. “Just because we’re stuck in this town doesn’t mean I can’t live my life.  And it’s just a movie!  Lincoln just asked me to a fucking movie — it’s not a marriage proposal.”

 

Clarke makes her way toward the refrigerator, stepping just behind where Bellamy stands and she tries not to notice the way the tension in his shoulders can be seen beneath the material of his t-shirt. Instead she turns toward the stainless steel doors and pulls one open, grabbing a bottle of water. It’s in moments like these that she realizes just how at home she’s starting to feel here.  It used to be when these two would argue she’d hole up in her room until it was all over.  Now she just moves around it like a well-rehearsed dance.

 

 Out of the corner of her eye she sees Bellamy run his hands over his face before he shakes his head, “Wait.  Lincoln? _Lincoln_. As in the ‘track coach for the school’ Lincoln?  No. No fucking way. You’re in _high school_ , Octavia.  You’re not dating a teacher — that’s not even legal. I’ll have his fucking job for this.”

 

“Oh please,” Octavia groans in frustration as her hands go to her hips. “Keep your ‘holier than thou’ act out of this, Bellamy. He’s not a fucking teacher. He’s a sophomore at the community college.  He used to run on the team so he’s helping out the _actual_ coach as a favor.”

 

“That — that doesn’t matter.” Bellamy argues, “He’s in a role of authority and it’s not happening.  You’re not going.  Final discussion.”

 

Octavia lets out a frustrated-type of scream before turning back to the table and gathering up her things quickly. She doesn’t bother making her papers and notebooks neat as she shoves them into her arms and starts out of the kitchen, but not before she glances back at Bellamy with a look that could melt ice.

 

“Thank God our fathers never stuck around, it would have been hell growing up with a multitude of you.”

 

And just like that she’s out of the room and stomping up the stairs.  Within moments the slam of her door can be heard and the new silence in the house is almost overbearing. Clarke realizes she’s been frozen in place against the refrigerator and she’s taking a step forward to stand beside Bellamy, the slump in his shoulders a symbol of his defeated feeling.

 

Clarke opens her mouth to speak several times over before she realizes she really doesn’t know what to say. This is all so foreign to her and anything she would have to add would be such a textbook response that it would do nothing for the situation.  Not really anyway.  So instead she places her jacket and bottle of water down on the island and wraps her arms around the his arm. Her chin going to rest on his shoulder and she swears she can almost _feel_ his inner struggle. 

 

This type of closeness isn’t new to them, not now anyway. They’ve been dancing around it for several weeks it seems.  Ever since the night at the Knights of Columbus it’s been a steady change in their relationship. It’s nothing overly affectionate or personal and never something they’ve actually spoken about, but it’s there. When Bellamy rests his hands on her hips for a brief moment when she’s standing at the sink doing dishes. It’s in the evening when they’re relaxing on the couch and she leans into him as they talk about their day. 

 

It’s peaceful.  It’s one of the only things that make sense in their little bubble of an existence. And sometimes Clarke wants to ask what’s going on, wants to know what Bellamy’s thinking when he looks at her from across the room while she’s painting.  But she doesn’t want to ruin this silent agreement they’ve seemed to form about comfort.  They’re a team and she’s not sure when it all started, but she’s grateful that it did.

“She’s probably right.  She’s just all I’ve got.” Bellamy mumbles, tucking his head down.

 

“No.  She’s not right.” Clarke disagrees, her chin still resting on his shoulder as she speaks. “She’s just pissed.  You’re doing the best you can.”

 

He doesn’t say anything, just glances over at her and reaches up to squeeze her hand that’s wrapped around his bicep. They stand there for while listening as Octavia’s music blares from upstairs — a telltale sign that the younger girl is upset, Clarke has learned.  Bellamy’s eyes finally look down at her jacket and nods toward it.

 

“Heading somewhere?” He asks.

 

Clarke looks over, her cheek feeling warm against his arm. “For a walk.  Want to come?”

 

“Yeah.” Bellamy accepts, standing up straight as Clarke’s arms drop from his and she starts slipping on her jacket. “Locksmith is closed, right? Knowing O she’ll probably have the locks changed before we get back.”

 

“It’s 7:30, this town shuts down around 6.” Clarke smiles, “I think you’re good.”

 

Bellamy laughs, “Let me get my jacket and we can go.”

 

She nods, watching as he starts out of the doorway and suddenly she’s hit with something he said earlier, “Bellamy?”

 

He turns back to look at her, stopping himself with a hand on the doorframe.  She swallows, her skin tingling with nerves. “She’s not _all_ you’ve got.  Not anymore.”

 

His expression is unreadable at first and then he’s smiling.  She feels butterflies burst within her at the brightness in his expression.  He doesn’t say anything just nods before heading down the hallway to his room.  It’s then she realizes she’s been holding her breath.

 

She breathes a sigh of relief.

 

\--

 

Ark, Minnesota may not be the booming, ever-moving metropolis that both of them are used to, but walking through the quiet town is an awe-inspiring experience.  It’s something that Clarke has come quite familiar with in her days here. Without much to do once their house officially started to feel like a home she took to most of her days walking through the multiple specialty shops, going to lunch with Raven occasionally, and just overall learning her surroundings.

But soon the city limits crept up around her and she found herself with nothing much to do, but that’s when she saw a flyer at a convenient store.   Ark Hospital was looking for volunteers to help transport and visit with patients. She’d walked in to fill out her application that day.  And within three days she was learning the ropes for being a volunteer at the hospital.

 

It’s been the saving grace for her sanity during the day, but she still feels like something is missing. 

 

“Thanksgiving is coming up.” Bellamy mentions, breaking their comfortable silence as he zips his jacket a bit higher to fight off the cool breeze.

 

“I always hated Thanksgiving.” Clarke counters, wrinkling her nose at the memories. “My mom could never cook and after my dad passed away there was no one else to do it.  We’d always have dry turkey with burnt vegetables and soupy raw pumpkin pie. Terrible forced conversation with my grandparents — basically pretending like life hadn’t changed at all since the accident.  Of course, that was the Thanksgivings she was _actually_ home for.  Usually she worked an extra shift at the hospital.  Anything to avoid me — anything to avoid remembering.”

 

She can feel Bellamy watching her out of the corner of her eye and she feels exposed under his gaze.  She tucks her chin slightly into the collar of her jacket, shoving her hands into her pocket. “Sorry, I’m sure that’s not where you were going with that conversation.”

 

“Don’t apologize.” He says sincerely. “It sounds like you’ve needed to let that out for awhile.”

 

“You don’t know the half of it.” She grumbles, her mood going sour quickly.

 

“I’ve always been a pretty decent listener. Well — maybe don’t ask O for a reference, but besides that.” He smiles and she looks over at him, laughing also.

 

“I was thinking maybe we’d do our own Thanksgiving this year.” Bellamy offers. “Invite some of the others. I know Miller was telling me that they usually go to Monty’s parents for the holidays, but they’ll be out of town this year.  And I’m sure Jasper will probably be there if Monty is.  And there’s our new guidance counselor, Maya, that doesn’t have anywhere to go. And you can ask Raven and Wick. You know, if you think it’s a good idea.”

 

Clarke watches him in amazement before nodding, “I think it’s a great idea.”

 

“Start our own tradition.” He shrugs, trying to hide the smile on his face. “Sounds like we both have some pretty shitty experiences with the holiday thus far.  Probably should change that.”

 

“Probably.” Clarke agrees.

 

Before long, their walk leads them into the central square of the town where most of the shops, offices, and restaurants are. And like so many times before, Clarke has an invisible pull that always has her walking past the vacant shop where the town’s art supply shop used to be.  And she can’t help but once again stop, seeing her own reflection in the glass because of the street light just behind them.

 

“What is this place?” Bellamy asks, stopping next to her and looking up around the old shop windows.

 

“Used to be an art supply shop.” Clarke says, stepping forward to cup her face against the glass to better see inside the darkened place.  A few things are left up, but the shelves are mostly empty and the place askew.  “Raven said the couple that owned it before up and retired. Moved south.”

 

“You should take it over.”

 

“What?” Clarke blanches, looking over her shoulder at him with a disbelieving expression.

 

“Why not?” Bellamy shrugs, pointing toward the corner of the window where a ‘FOR RENT’ sign stands proudly against the glass. “You’ve got your degree in business —“

 

“You know that’s part of the cover, Bellamy.” Clarke argues.  “That’s not actually a thing. I know nothing about running a business.”

 

“But you know art.” Bellamy steps toward her. “And you’re smart.  I know you can do this. Besides, you’ll have me and Octavia to help you out.”

 

“If I can get you two to stop arguing long enough.” She teases.

 

He laughs, glancing down at his feet before nodding. “Yeah, good luck.”

 

They grow quiet again as Clarke looks back at the building, actually contemplating the idea.  She’d love to have her own business in the art industry. Of course, she’d always envisioned a studio to display her work, but maybe a craft shop wouldn’t be all that bad. She could offer different types of art supplies and maybe even do monthly classes of some sort.

 

“Are we really doing this?” Clarke thinks aloud, feeling Bellamy coming to stand next to her. “Planning to host Thanksgiving and starting a business in this place?”

 

“I guess so.” Bellamy agrees and she feels his hand entangle itself in hers as they just stand there. “That scare you?”

 

 _Not like it should._ “I didn’t have any other plans.” She smiles over at him.

 

\--

 

The bell rings out through the quiet classroom and Bellamy looks up at his last hour as they all slowly start to gather their things and quiet conversations begin among them.  He stands from his desk and pushes up the sleeves of his sweater before walking toward the middle of the blackboard and shoving his hands in the pocket of his khakis.

 

“Don’t forget, test over sections five and six on Monday.” He announces and some of them actually look his way, while others act as though he’s said nothing.  Typical behavior after the bell has rang. “Sam, do me a favor and actually study this time. Your mom is a lovely lady, but I _hate_ calling her after every test.”

 

“Yes, Mr. King.” A tall blonde grumbles, as he’s one of the last ones out of the room.  But soon someone is filling his place by walking in.

 

“Happy Friday, Wanda.” Bellamy greets with a smile, walking back to his desk to continue grading the last of the essays before heading home for the weekend.

 

“You too, Mr. King!” She giggles her greeting in her traditional joyous fashion.

 

“Wanda,” He smiles. “It’s Blake, please. It’s bad enough the students call me Mr. King.  It sounds so old.”

 

“Oh Blake, it hardly makes you old.” She laughs, shaking her head as though he’s just said the most absurd thing. “But Mr. Kane wants you to swing by his office before you leave.  He said go ahead and finish up for the day and he’ll just see you when your finished.” 

 

“I’ll be there.” Bellamy nods as Wanda smiles one last time before leaving the classroom.  And Bellamy alone with his thoughts.  Marcus hadn’t needed to speak with him in over two months and usually when he did it had to do with the real reason they were here.  In fact, it had yet to do with anything school related.

 

He tries to clear it out of his mind while he turned back to his essays and began to read.  But soon his mind began to wander.  Were they going home?  Were Dante’s connections all taken down?  Was there something new in the case?  Bellamy chews on the cap of his pen, a terrible habit he’d picked up during college, as he reads the same sentence almost a dozen times. 

 

Finally he gives up and pushes he’s chair out, closing up his classroom for the weekend.  He starts the short walk down the hallway before turning into the administrative office.  Wanda is still sitting at her desk when he entered and she smiled, pointing that Marcus was ready for him.

Bellamy taps lightly on the open door, making his presence known to Marcus, who sits behind his desk looking at something on his computer.  He immediately looks up at the man and smiles.  Removing his reading glasses and tossing them onto the desk, he stands to greet him.

 

“Ah Blake, thanks for stopping by.” Marcus offers his hand and Bellamy shakes it. “Sorry to keep you held up on a Friday, it’ll only take a second.  Please, have a seat.”

 

The younger man does, feeling ridged. Marcus shuts the door behind him, mentioning to Wanda to hold all his calls until they’re finished.

 

“Everything alright?” Bellamy asks, wiping his palms down on his pants.

 

“Not quite.” Marcus answers honestly, sitting back down at his desk. “Nothing to get too worked up about yet. It might turn out to be nothing. But I always told you I’d keep you up to date on everything.”

 

Bellamy clears his throat and Marcus continues, “All of Dante’s mail — both outgoing and incoming — gets read. Well, a code of sorts was caught in his last several letters.  We haven’t completely cracked it, but we think we know enough.  Two letters Dante himself sent and one that was received back from someone claiming to be Dante’s cousin.  As far as we’re concerned he has no living relatives, so that was the first red flag.”

 

Bellamy can feel his heart beating against his chest as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  His head drops down to stare at the floor beneath his feet.

  
“Part of the code mentions the Midwest.” Bellamy’s head pops up. “But nothing specific to Ark or even Minnesota.  We’re not even sure if they’re talking about your location or —“

 

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Bellamy snaps. “Is my family in danger or not, Marcus?”

 

“As far as we can tell you are not in danger.” Marcus continues calmly. “And we are going to be keeping a close eye on all of Dante’s communication — obviously not sending anything we think could be dangerous to you and your family.  But headquarters is also going to be sending a couple other agents into town. Not permanently, but just for several weeks.”

 

“So now what?” Bellamy asks, disgusted. “What do we do?”

 

“Go on about your daily life.” Marcus states. “And trust me, we have trained professionals here for your protection. And like I said earlier, this may turn out to be nothing.  But you wanted to be informed.”

 

Bellamy leans back in his chair and just shakes his head before standing up quickly, “Are we done here?”

 

“We’re done.” Marcus nods, sensing Bellamy’s irritation.  He watches as he turns to leave, placing his hand on the doorknob before speaking. “And Bellamy? You can do what you want, but I’d recommend not bringing this up to your wife or sister.” 

 

Bellamy just looks back at him for a second before opening the door to leave.  He hardly smiles at Wanda as he speeds out of the office, hearing the obliviously cheerful secretary right before he walks out.

 

“See you and Penelope at the home game tonight, Blake!”

 

He doesn't say anything.  He doesn't even look back.  He just knows he can't get home to them fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine. Thank you again for reading! Come over on Tumblr (fourfinick) and say hey!


	6. And The World Keeps Spinning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night they met they witnessed a grisly murder. Now they’re being placed into the Witness Protection Program. Starting life over in Ark, Minnesota was definitely not part of Clarke’s five-year plan. And gaining a wife certainly wasn’t something Bellamy saw himself doing this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So sorry for the sudden absence. Real life and writer's block took over this past month. But I'm back and hopefully it's full steam ahead with this and my other story. Thanks again for all the awesome feedback, you guys are making this so much fun! And be warned; it's about to get all kinds of fluffy...something I'm never really sure about, but I always end up going there. Ha! Hope you enjoy!

She tucks her chin down beneath her scarf as she makes her way toward the crowd, lights, and festivities.  If she thought the town shutdown early on a regular day she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting on a Friday night during the fall. Football was king in this small town and Clarke hated to admit it, but instead of finding this quirk annoying she almost found it endearing.  Another way she knew this place was growing on her more than she’d ever thought possible.

 

“You never mentioned how the meeting at the bank went?” Bellamy’s voice interrupts her thoughts and she glances to her left where he walks beside her.

 

“Really well.” Clarke nods, her expression not matching her statement, “Apparently people in this town are more than happy to see another business pop up.  I should have the loan by next Wednesday.”

 

It is happening so fast and the notion makes her unsteady. She’d barely had time to wrap her mind around owning her own business before the bank was already letting the ink on the loan papers dry.  Her stomach still twists in to knots of nerves and excitement when she walks past the building — which she finds herself making excuses to do so more often than not.

 

“That’s great.” He grins down at her as they walk — hand in hand, something they’ve been doing a lot recently. “And yet you look like someone just told you they stopped making butter pecan ice cream.”

 

“No, no.  I’m excited.  Just nervous that it’s all…happening, I guess.” Clarke looks up at him for reassurance. Because without realizing it, Bellamy has become her gage of comfort.  And then she grins, “And that’s not true.  This world could not _contain_ my sadness if they stopped making butter pecan ice cream.”

 

“How well I know.”

 

His rumble of laughter is infectious as he drops her hand to reach around and pull her against him as they come to a stop at the ticket line for the game.  She tries to avoid thinking about the way this gesture excites her. He’s doing it for show, or at least that’s what she’s telling herself lately.  Because she’s found herself falling for her husband and that’s _not_ how this is supposed to happen.  Something foolish like that was going to get her hurt.  
  


And Clarke’s had enough hurt to last a lifetime.

 

But she doesn’t pull away.  Instead she nuzzles herself closer to him — for warmth, obviously. Her head comes to rest just beneath his shoulder as his arm is wrapped securely around her waist. Her own arms have found their own intuitive and have wrapped themselves around his middle. 

 

“Aw, Mr. King!” Clarke hears from off to their right. Her head turns to see a group of girls standing nearby as they wave excitedly at Bellamy. “I thought you had a strict ‘no PDA’ rule?”

 

Her cheeks warm in the cool evening as she looks down at her shoes before looking back up at Bellamy, expecting him to pull away. But he just keeps his hold on her and waves toward the girls with his other hand, “Rules don’t apply to married people.”

 

“Whatever you say,” The redhead shakes her head with a laugh. “I guess we’ll let it slide _this_ time — since you’re all just so cute and in love.”

 

“Enjoy the game, girls.” Bellamy laughs and with that the girls wave their farewell, heading towards the gate.

 

“I bet you’re their favorite teacher.” Clarke says with a smile, before she’s even realizing what she’s said.

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“Have you seen you?” She blurts out. “If I had had a history teacher that looked like you I would have cared _a lot_ more about the pilgrims.”

 

There’s a silence between them and suddenly Clarke feels like she’s overstepped.  She tucks her head against him in embarrassment, but only feels Bellamy’s laugh. She’s about to dig herself out of her lustful hole when it’s their turn to buy tickets.  Bellamy steps forward, only letting go of her to reach into his back pocket for his wallet.  He holds up two fingers at the woman behind the booth and then grins back at Clarke.

 

“Trust me, if you were one of my students I probably would have lost my job a long time ago.”

 

\--

 

It’s halftime before Clarke and Bellamy leave the stands and head toward the concessions; they’d been voted as the two people in charge of stack gathering.  It had all happened when Bellamy had made the mistake of turning around and asking if anyone wanted anything.  Of course they did. Wick, Raven, Jasper, Monty, and Nathan all throwing money their direction with orders Clarke was certain they were going to get wrong. 

 

“What do you say we put extra jalapeños on Jasper’s hotdog?” Bellamy grins wickedly.  “He’ll never know.”

 

“Yeah, the green things sitting atop his ketchup and mustard covered hotdog?” Clarke shakes her head. “He’ll _never_ see it coming.”

 

“I thought so.” He smiles down at her just as she sees someone walking toward them casually.

  
“Blake, glad to see you made it to the game.” The man smiles, laugh lines forming around his eyes.  He reaches out his hand and Bellamy shakes it firmly.  Clarke watches the two for a moment before they turn on her, Bellamy reaching to wrap his arm around her loosely. “Mr. Kane, this is my wife, Penelope.”

 

Mr. Kane.  Marcus Kane, the man in charge of their protection while they’re in Ark. Clarke looks him up and down, almost deciding if he’s someone worth trusting.  He seems nice enough, calm really.  He has an air of control about him. That’s something that gives her a sense of comfort, mostly because she senses that same quality in the man standing beside her.

 

“Nice to meet you.” She shakes his outstretched hand before turning to move up in the shortening line. 

 

“Likewise.  Although I feel like we’ve already met.  Blake has told me so much about you.” He smiles, looking back at Bellamy. And she knows that’s not true. Well, she doesn’t _know_ , but she assumes he knows so much about her because it’s his job.  And that makes her slightly uneasy.

 

Clarke looks forward, reading over the candy, snacks, and preheated goods available at the concessions before it becomes their turn to rattle off their grocery list.  She hears Bellamy and Marcus speaking behind her, but she doesn’t think too much about it until Marcus drops his tone.

 

“Are you doing alright with everything?” He asks Bellamy, leaning in slightly. “I know we left things in an uneasy place earlier.”

 

“I’m fine.” Bellamy nods, looking away from Clarke. “Just keep me updated.”

 

“You know I will.” Marcus agrees, slapping Bellamy on the shoulder before looking from him to Clarke. “Penelope, it was very nice meeting you. I think I’ll head back to my seat.  Enjoy the rest of the game.”

 

“You too.” She mumbles, confusion written all over her face as she turns to look at Bellamy after he walks away. “What was that all about?”

 

“Nothing.” Bellamy assures her with a smile. “Just some drama between two students at the school today.”

 

Clarke nods, looking back at the concessions, as it becomes their turn to order.  She doesn’t notice the concerned expression etched in Bellamy’s features as he turns to glance back in Marcus’ direction.

 

\--

 

Clarke is elbows’ deep in soapy water while she watches Octavia tell an animated story about her lab partner fainting in the middle of their experiment today.  The brunette talks a mile a minute as she relives the way he was literally standing one minute and the next he was on the ground.  All while she’s toweling off one of the plates used for dinner.

 

“You should have seen it, Clarke.” Octavia laughs, setting the plate to the side and moving on to one of the glasses. “Flat on his face.  Blood everywhere too. I think I overheard the teacher say he broke his nose when he hit the tile. It was so cool.”

 

“I think our definition of cool is a bit different.” Clarke wrinkles her nose, rinsing several pieces of silverware.

 

“Funny.” She smiles, “That’s what Lincoln said.”

 

Clarke glances over her shoulder toward the hallway. Bellamy has been working on grading papers since after dinner in his office and as much as he hates the idea of Lincoln, Clarke isn’t so sure.  Every time Octavia speaks about him she practically glows.  Her expression softens and it’s as if Clarke is witnessing her literally being lifted to another dimension. 

 

It’s then she realizes she’s envious of the eighteen year old. 

 

“I asked him to homecoming.” Octavia’s voice drops a little as to not poke the overprotective bear in the other room. “I mean, it’s not like _he_ could ask _me_.  It’s not his homecoming.  You know?”

 

Clarke nods, “And?”

 

Octavia takes the bowl out of Clarke’s hand with a sly smile, “Looks like I’m going to need a dress.”

 

“We’ll go shopping next week. Maybe take a trip to St. Paul.” Clarke muses, taking the towel away from the younger girl as she finishes up the bowl. “I’ll finish up.  Get started on your homework before Bellamy’s teacher mode kicks in.”

 

“Yes, _Mom_.” Octavia laughs, bumping her hip against Clarke’s as she turns to leave the kitchen.  She turns around just at the doorway, “You know, you might want to be careful. I think Bell is rubbing off on you.”

 

Clarke shakes her head as she hears Octavia laughter down the hall and up the stairs to her room.  She finishes up the dishes before moving on to putting away the leftovers from dinner.  Yet another one of Bellamy’s delicious creations that she has long since stopped complimenting in fear his ego is already plenty large enough.

 

She puts the pasta away first, packing enough off to the side for Bellamy to take for lunch in the morning. And then she moves over to the banana cake Octavia had whipped up when she’d gotten home from school. It was a miracle Clarke hadn’t gained thirty pounds in these past few months living with these two. Better yet, how in the world did they look the way they did?  More willpower than she has, that’s for certain.

 

Her finger dips into the top of the cream cheese frosting before she reaches for the glass lid to cover it. She pops her finger into her mouth to suck off the sweet concoction before going back in for one last dip. She jumps when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

 

“I saw that.” Bellamy smirks, leaning against the kitchen island with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

Clarke laughs, tucking the cake away.  She then moves to start wiping down the counters.  She feels his eyes on her and while part of her wants to say something another part of her doesn’t want his eyes to leave her.  She loves the way she feels under his gaze.

 

“I think we should go out next weekend.” He says, still watching her.

 

“Okay.” She agrees, “Is there something going on? I know Monty mentioned Miller’s softball league was doing something Saturday night.  Or we can see if Raven wants to —”

 

“On a date.” He corrects his earlier statement. “I think you and I should go out on a date next weekend.”

 

Clarke pauses mid-swipe as she stares down at the granite, trying to contain her girlish excitement before she turns around to face him.  When she does she leans opposite of him against the counter.  The silence between them feels exciting and electrifying. 

 

This wasn’t something he was doing for appearances. This wasn’t about their cover while they were here in Ark.  This was about her. Bellamy Blake wanted to go on a date with her.  And Clarke shouldn’t be this excited. 

 

Slowly she pushes herself away from the counter, crossing her arms over her chest as she comes to stand in front of him with a smirk.

 

“A date.” She states mock stoically, “Next weekend. I think I can clear my calendar.”

 

“Well how honored am I.” Bellamy feigns gratitude, amusement dancing in his eyes.

 

She points an accusing finger up at him, “But don’t get too handsy.  I’m not that kind of girl.”

 

She then pats him on the shoulder as she heads out of the kitchen toward the living room.  Bellamy laughs, turning to watch her leave.

 

“It’s just a date!” He calls, “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me!”

 

\--

 

The sweat slides down her neck even with the door propped open and the fall breeze blowing through.  They’ve been at it for nearly five hours and Clarke has to say it’s finally starting to take shape.  She steps back, wiping the sleeve of the flannel she’d stolen from Bellamy across her forehead, as she surveys the room.  _Her_ shop.

 

Fresh paint smells fill the air and Raven is hard at work putting together the shelves Clarke had ordered weeks ago. Clarke has scrubbed this place from ceiling to floor, getting rid of the outdated posters and craft books. She’s already designed each inch of this space in her mind and her nerves tingle with excitement to make in a reality.

 

“What do you think about this unit going against this wall?” Raven calls out, setting down her drill as she reaches for her tape measure.

 

Clarke walks toward her, Raven already measuring the farthest corner of the room.  She nods, “Yeah.  I think it’ll fit perfect.”

 

Once Raven is done measuring, the girls both take up an end of the shelving unit and pull it into its new designated place. The heavy wood moves easier than expected and soon they’re both sitting atop the counter where the register is going to be munching on some candy Clarke had purchased across the street.

 

“Thanks for all your help.” Clarke smiles over at Raven.

 

Raven just grins as she bites off the head of a gummy worm, “What are friends for, P?  Plus, now you owe me.  So in case I ever need to hide Wick’s body, I know who to call.”

 

“Help someone by building shelves, have them become an accessory to murder.  Sounds like a fair trade.” Clarke laughs. 

 

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Raven smirks, looking back around the room as she leans back on her palms on the counter. “So have you come up with a name yet?”

 

Clarke groans at the reminder, “Not yet. And I need to so I can get the sign made out front.  Hard to have a grand opening without a name.”

 

“You’ve got time, I’m sure you’ll —“

 

“Oh excuse me,” A voice interrupts their conversation from the front door.  Both Raven and Clarke look up to see a well-dressed man walking into the uprooted shop. Looking around like he’s obviously lost. He smiles sheepishly, “I’m terribly sorry, someone mentioned that this was the nearest place for art supplies a couple towns back.  Apparently they were misinformed?”

 

“No!” Clarke jumps up off the counter, walking toward the man.  “Well, I mean yes and no. This used to be an art supply shop, but the old owners retired, but I’m planning on opening it again. I mean, not the same shop, but it’ll have art supplies and —“

 

“And what she means to say is you’ve come to the right place.” Raven intervenes, stepping up behind her. “You’re just a couple weeks early.”

 

“Right.” The man smiles at the two girls, looking every bit the charming outsider. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’ll be sticking around town then.”

 

Clarke nods, unsure of what to say. Apparently marketing is not her strength, but fortunately she’s got Raven right beside her ready to talk. “Very good thing.  Just watch the papers, I’m sure the grand opening date will be announced there within the week. Right, Penelope?”

 

“Right!” Clarke agreed quickly, nodding nervously.

 

“Fantastic.” He nods, his eyes never leaving Clarke’s. “Well it was very nice to meet you Ms. Penelope…”

 

“King.” Clarke reaches out her hand to shake his. “Penelope King.  And this Raven Reyes. My marketing specialist.”

 

Raven raises her eyebrows at the new title she’s earned and grins before shaking the man’s hand as well.

 

“Well, I look forward to shopping here often.” He gestures around the room before heading toward the door to leave.

 

“Oh, we didn’t catch your name?” Clarke calls after him, excitement coursing through her at someone being interested in her little slice of business.

 

“It’s Cage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcome! Also, no beta - all mistakes are mine. Terribly sorry. Come find me on Tumblr (fourfinick)!


	7. You Make What Doesn't Matter Fade To Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night they met they witnessed a grisly murder. Now they’re being placed into the Witness Protection Program. Starting life over in Ark, Minnesota was definitely not part of Clarke’s five-year plan. And gaining a wife certainly wasn’t something Bellamy saw himself doing this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I abandoned this story, didn't you? No, I promise. Not abandonment. But I haven't been feeling too "fluffy" lately and I'm not going to lie - we got a several chapters of fluff, cheesiness, and smut ahead of us before we dive right into some drama. Anyway, thank you for showing SO MUCH love to this story. You guys are all so great! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Enjoy!

“Yeah, definitely that one.” Her laptop speaks to her from behind as she stands in front of her full-length mirror.

 

Clarke tilts her head from one side to the other as she studies her reflection. She does like the forest green color against her fair tone. And the A-line fit does accentuate the best parts of her ample curves. The extra material forgives the fact that her workout routine has been all but not existent since they got here. Plus, her legs do look pretty good with these wedges.

 

She turns to the side and begins her study once more, only interrupted by the frustrated noise coming from her computer.

 

“Damn P, you look great.” Raven says via Skype. “But can you please tell me why you’ve all but bought the entire mall for this _one_ date? Is it an anniversary or something?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, turning back toward the screen. She nearly laughs at Raven’s less-than-thrilled expression plastered over her entire screen. She then glances toward the bed where all of her purchases are thrown haphazardly here and there — a rather frustrating turtleneck is even hanging over a nearby lamp.

 

“No it’s noth —“

 

“Oh my god.” Raven gasps, pulling away from the computer slightly. Clarke turns back in surprise, seeing the girl grabbing at her chest in shock. “You’re knocked up, aren’t you? Tonight is one of those “honey, these nights are great, but don’t get used to it ‘cause in nine months it’s gonna be dinner for 3” kind of dates isn’t it? Do you think he’ll be excited? Was it planned? God, Blake as a dad is going to be —”

 

“I’m not pregnant!” She nearly screams, praying Bellamy doesn’t here her from downstairs.

 

“Well, you better be getting a piece — going through all this.” Raven shakes her head, “You’re stressing _me_ out and I’m not even planning on leaving my couch tonight.”

 

Clarke almost says something as she finishes her outfit with a couple of gold bracelets, but then she hears the doorbell. Her eyes immediately go toward her closed bedroom door. They aren’t expecting anyone and Octavia is out with friends tonight. She doesn’t make any move to answer it, instead grabs her leather jacket from behind the door.

 

Again, the doorbell rings and she glares at her reflection before yelling, “Bel — Blake! Can you grab the door?”

 

She mentally scolds herself for the almost-slip up, but examines her reflection once more. Yep. This is how she’s going to look. She turns back toward her laptop and holds out her arms expectantly. Raven looks her over before whistling her approval.

 

Then the doorbell rings once more and Clarke rolls her eyes.

 

“Alright, obviously Blake doesn’t live here anymore. I gotta go.” She says quickly, walking over to shut her laptop screen.

 

“You look hot!” Raven’s voice manages to ring through before her computer goes into sleep mode.

 

Clarke laughs, grabbing her purse, and heading downstairs.

 

“Don’t worry,” She calls throughout the house as she reaches the doorway. “I’ll get it. I was right here anyway.”

 

She opens the door to a rather attractive man wearing a blue button down shirt that fits him just perfectly, the old leather jacket she’s being to associate with _his_ smell, and a bouquet of white poppies securely in his hand.

 

“Wow.” She raises her eyebrows, leaning against the doorframe. “Aren’t we something out of an eighties romantic comedy?”

 

Bellamy laughs as he offers her the flowers, “Don’t worry, I splurged and brought the car — left the lawnmower in the garage.”

 

“Bummer, I was about to go grab my boombox.” She takes the flowers and starts back into the house and toward their kitchen. “Although, I’ll say, I’m impressed. That’s a classic move, Mr. King.”

 

She doesn’t see his reaction as she enters the kitchen, but she hears his footsteps behind her. Grabbing a nearby vase to fill with water, she looks back to see him come and lean against the kitchen island.  


“What can I say? I’m a gentleman.”

 

His confidence isn’t a surprise. She’s seen how he handles himself in almost every situation. Always in control, always seemingly two steps ahead of the conversation. It’s one of the reasons she finds comfort in him. Stability is a reassurance she never had and she knows it comes from his years raising Octavia. But to see him this way now is a whole new kind of turn on. She bites the inside of her cheek and smiles to herself as she finishes putting her new flowers in water.

 

“So does this kind of charm usually work on all the ladies?”

 

“Guess you’re the judge of that.” He shrugs with a coy smirk. “How am I doing so far?”

 

“Not bad.”

 

\--

 

“You’re kidding?” She questions, getting out of the car and staring up at the building in front of them. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected for their first date, but this certainly wasn’t it. The music is loud enough for her to hear from the parking lot and the lights illuminating the attraction bounce from place to place, enticing visitors.

 

Bellamy comes to stand next her, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. When she looks up at him, she can’t help but grin. He looks like a kid about to walk into a candy store. But she can tell by the way he bounces on his heels, he’s nervous. Unsure if he’s made the right decision.

 

“Laser Tag?”

 

“Laser Tag.” He confirms, raising an eyebrow as he looks at her. “Bad idea?”

 

“Oh no,” She shaking her head and starting to walk toward the building. She turns back toward him with a wicked grin, “I just hate to kick your ass so early into this relationship.”

 

\--

 

Her heart slams against her chest as her eyes dart from one neon-colored obstacle to the next. It’s eerily quiet and she hasn’t seen any sign of the enemy for what seems like hours. Her finger itches against the trigger as she holds up the plastic device like a trained sniper. She refuses to lose this round too. Because it has become obvious after the last three rounds that her opponent does not see the chivalry in _letting_ her win.

 

It has been a laser-filled slaughter. The first round had actually been her best up until this point. She’d lasted probably fifteen minutes before he took aim from behind a rather obnoxious cone-shaped distraction. Her vest had lit up in defeat and his grin —glowing in the black light atmosphere — had made her quietly seethe in frustration. Their second round hadn’t been a complete upset. He’d caught her from above in one of the platforms designed to look like a lookout tower. But their last round? A complete and total disappointment. He’d simply rounded the corner on her and she was toast.

 

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a lovely princess.” He’d laughed victoriously before she’d swiftly flipped him the bird and headed back to their designated starting points. She was _not_ going down this way.

 

And now here she is, tiptoeing the best she can in her decided footwear, looking for any sign of him. When they had started this little game she’d figured she’d have a couple of good laughs and then they’d be on their way. Oh hell no. Now she is in this to _win_. She was a predator hunting her prey. She slid close to a nearby wall, finding a rather dark corner where she could see in several different directions. And that’s when she sees the movement of a shadow in the black-lit arena.

 

Clarke practically screams in premature excitement, but quickly composes herself and follows the movement. Her skin tingles with anticipation as she slides along a thin corridor. When she reaches the end she slowly pops her head around the edge and that’s when she sees him. His back in toward her as he silently scouts in the opposite direction.

 

She wastes no time walking up behind him, pointing her gun directly at his back. She’s at pointblank range when she quietly clears her throat and even in their dimly lite surroundings she sees him tense.

 

“Say hello to my little friend.” She whispers victoriously.

 

He doesn’t turn around right away, but instead moves his arms up in a surrendering pose before slowly twisting toward her. His eyes are lit up with amusement and he cocks his head to the side, “Really? You’re going with Scarface?”

 

There is a moment of silence before his vest lights up and makes its little noise to verify he has in deed been terminated. Signally Clarke has decided to pull her trigger right at his chest.

 

“Game over, _husband_.” Clarke gives him an once-over before walking past him with an extra confident sway in her hips.

 

“So I guess we won’t be mentioning the last three times _I_ won?” Bellamy calls after her.

 

“What? I’m sorry; I can’t hear you over my victory cheers. You’ll have to speak up.” She calls back before exiting the arena.

 

\--

 

Bellamy had originally offered to take her out for dinner after their time at the arcade, but then they’d driven past another rather appetizing alternative and all thoughts of a typical first date had flown out the window.

 

Now back at home and halfway through Clarke’s strawberry milkshake, Bellamy reaches over and snatches the remote from her lap.

 

“Hey!” She gapes, “I was just about to pick something.”

 

“No offense, Clarke.” Bellamy settles back into the couch, munching on a chip out of their overstuffed bag of fast food. “But I’d probably be balding and hobbling around here with a walker before you _actually_ decided on something to watch.”

 

She scoffs at him, before kicking her legs out from beneath her and hovering closer to his spot. She leans in and feels Bellamy tense under her close proximity. Her chest is barely pressing against his shoulder while her face is a mere inch from his hairline.

 

“I don’t know,” Her voice is low as she examines his forehead. “It looks like you might already _be_ balding, Old Man.”

 

Within seconds of her comment, she’s falling back on the cushions as Bellamy tackles her and instantly reaches to tickle the sensitive skin of her ribs. She now regrets the decision nights ago when she had shared just how very ticklish she was. Her screaming laughter fills the house before they’re both gasping in surprise.

 

“Oh shit!” He immediately pulls away from her, looking down at the mess they’ve managed to make of her momentarily forgotten milkshake. It has now toppled over, the lid busted off, and the remaining content is all over their couch and her lap. But of course, he’s managed to pull away with nothing more than a small spot on his own shirt.

 

Bellamy’s eyes move from the pink-colored mess up to Clarke’s shocked face. Her mouth is gapping open as she stares down at the quickly melting pile in shock. He does feel a bit guilty about her new dress and the discomfort she’s probably feeling, but he’s more focused on just how cute a startled Clarke Griffin is. So distracted by it that he can’t help but laugh at her disheveled appearance.

 

“So this is funny to you?” Her words bite, but the expression on her face is nothing more than aggravated amusement.

 

Bellamy clears his throat, meeting her blue eyes with a casual shrug and quick shake of his head, “Nope. No. I think this is very, _very_ devastating.”

 

“Oh really?” She baits, moving back over to him. Ignoring the remaining bits of milkshake that are now sliding off of her dress and onto their couch.

 

“Yes, definitely.” He nods, but he’s no longer looking so amused as he watches her crawl the short distance back to him. And he all but holds his breath when he realizes her final destination.

 

Clarke hardly pauses as she moves one knee across him to better straddle his lap, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders and his instinctively move to steady her waist. He looks up at her and all jokes fly out the window as he focuses on the beautiful blue of her eyes and the way they dance with mischief.

 

One of her hands moves up to cup around his neck gently and he feels the sticky, cool residue of the milkshake against his heated flesh. Her eyes scan over his features and Bellamy allows her fingers to quietly follow. First she glides over his cheekbones, before ghosting over his nose, and finally landing on the subtle scar across his upper lip. Their eyes lock then, for what feels like an eternity before both move to connect their lips together in a long awaited kiss.

 

Clarke’s fingers immediately go to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck, while Bellamy’s arms further pull her against him. The mixture on her dress is now seeping through the material of his shirt. But neither seems to care about the mess they’re making. Because this is something they’ve been dancing around for too long — arguably since the moment they met in the ill-fated coffee shop — and its now right in front of them.

 

Bellamy’s eager gestures are met with Clarke’s impatience and soon she’s undoing the buttons of his shirt while he’s gripping the bare skin of her thighs. Racking his nails across the sensitive skin there, he causes her to whimper against his mouth. She’s quickly becoming putty in his lap, but never one to be outdone she tears her lips away from his to nip at his strong jawline.

 

Near the entryway, someone clears their throat and they both freeze.

 

And Clarke doesn’t have the guts to turn her head toward the noise — she already knows who it is. Bellamy simply looks over her shoulder with an aggravated expression.

 

“You were supposed to be home at 10, Octavia.” Bellamy scolds, only having to clear his throat slightly before speaking so sternly.

 

“Yes, because I can see your concern is practically _mounting_.” Octavia giggles, Clarke’s head dropping down to Bellamy’s shoulder with embarrassment.

 

“ _Goodnight_ , Octavia.”

 

“Night, Big Brother.” She waves, practically bouncing up the stairs as she yells back, “Night, Clarke!”

 

“Goodnight.” She calls back as she slides off of Bellamy’s lap. Her hands going to cover her face before she glances over at Bellamy through her fingers. “Not exactly how I saw that ending.”

 

Bellamy just laughs, resting his hands atop her leg that still lies across his lap. It’s then he glances down at his now ruined shirt to go along with her dress and their sofa.

 

“I don’t think we’re anywhere near the ending.” He looks back up at her.

 

She raises her eyebrows suggestively, “Oh yeah?”

 

He nods, moving her leg off his lap before standing up in front of her, “Have you seen this place? We’re going to be up until dawn trying to figure out how the hell to get strawberry milkshake out of furniture.”

 

Clarke laughs, moving to stand beside him as she surveys their mess. She raises her hand, “All for throwing it away and getting a new one?”

 

Bellamy high-fives her raised hand and drags her with him into the kitchen, because the Witness Protection Program may come with some perks, but endless funds is certainly not one of them. And stains don’t remove themselves.

 

\--

 

The incessant ringing of the doorbell is what pulls Clarke out of her focus from the several cookbooks spread across their kitchen table. She has been deeply involved in planning their meal for Thanksgiving and trying to figure out just _how_ hard it was going to be to pull this all off. She shouldn’t have agreed to this. She shouldn’t have allowed Bellamy to invite everyone over. She shouldn’t have waited until the Saturday _before_ to plan.

 

As the doorbell rings one more time, Clarke navigates herself through the house. “Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

 

She turns the doorknob to see Raven and Monty practically bouncing in place, “You’ve made the front page!”

 

Clarke must look as confused as she feels, because as they’re pushing their way past her, Monty holds out a newspaper and reads, “Local artist to open up highly anticipated new arts studio.”

 

“Penelope King, recently moved here with her husband and sister-in-law, has decided to place her own little mark on our quaint town of Ark by stretching her artistic muscles and putting her business degree to good use.” Raven cuts in, hopping up on the kitchen counter as she reads from another newspaper.

 

Clarke instantly reaches toward the paper Monty is holding to pull it out of his hands. And just like they had told her, there she is on the front page. The picture used was of her and Bellamy standing outside the little shop, apparently taking a break from painting the different murals she’s planned for across the small shop, because he’s got a streak of blue paint across his arm and her t-shirt is splattered with several different shades of green.

 

She smiles at how relaxed with each other they look. Bellamy is leaning against the old brick of the building, caught in the middle of speaking animatedly, while Clarke’s hand is over her mouth as she fails miserably at holding in her laughter. It’d be something she’d frame up if she weren’t so embarrassed by all the attention her little project was getting before she was even certain she could get it off the ground.

 

“How did they even get all this information about me?” She asks, looking from Raven to Monty accusingly.

 

“Hey, don’t look at us.” Monty holds up his hands in innocence. “Our lips are sealed. But this is a small town — everyone knows everything.”

 

“Even before it happens.” Raven agrees, “Small town, old lady gossip. From the lips of babes to God’s ears, I’m tellin’ you.”

 

Just as Clarke is about to argue, Bellamy walks inside from their back yard looking every bit the piece of marital eye-candy; backwards hat on his head, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and worn jeans covered in dirt.

 

“Hey,” Bellamy greets them with an exhausted nod.

 

“You’re wife is a pretty big deal.” Monty says, offering over yet another copy of the newspaper they’d been reading from.

 

“You’re not telling me something I don’t already know.” He says, taking the newspaper as he comes to lean against the counter next to Clarke.

 

Clarke smiles having to bite her lip to keep it from turning into a full grin, as she waits for Bellamy’s reaction to the newspaper article. Raven and Monty just stare at each other for a second before looking back at him. The room is silent while he reads the whole article and when he’s finished he hands it back to Monty, reaching around to wrap his arm around Clarke, leaning down to place a warm kiss to her temple.

 

It isn’t much, but it adds fuel to the fire that’s been burning inside her sense their date last week. She leans into him, smiling proudly at the way he shows affection toward her so easily.

 

“So are you guys coming Thursday?” Bellamy asks, moving away from the topic of his wife’s small-city fame.  

 

“Are you kidding?” Raven jokes, holding up the front page of the paper. “I’m having sweatshirts made with this picture plastered on it for us all to wear for the big occasion.”

 

Bellamy grins, “Make mine an extra large.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Clarke groans. “Can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, terribly sorry for all mistakes. Thank you again for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts! And come find me over on Tumblr (fourfinick)!

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, answers will be soon coming in future chapter(s)! Come find me over on Tumblr at fourfinick!


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